Soulless
by Isabelle
Summary: When Chuck & Blair's child is born Chuck's plane crashes, his body is missing & he's presumed dead. Now, as you know, Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures of a brunette & a baby left on their graves. Vampires are soulless & evil. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew is that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: You know, I promised myself that I wouldn't do this. I hate breaking my own promises, dammit. Oh, and thank Tati, otherwise there would be no fic. Seriously.

"_You're beautiful to me because you're human. Your frailty. Your short years. Your heart. All that suddenly seems more precious than anything I've ever known."  
Anne Rice_

She remembered his greatest fear was that she would die in childbirth. His consolation during those long eight months had been resting his head right above the rise of her belly, content in the slow drum of her heart while his hand rested on her stomach. His strong son proudly kicked under her skin, showing his father what an overachiever he was.

"He senses when you're near, he's not nearly as active when I'm alone or with other people," she told him once, and he hid a proud smile.

"I still think he will be a mama's boy," he reiterated. "He'll always be latching on to you." And she knew that what he meant with those words was that she would be around for their son to be attached to. Chuck always meant two things when he said only one.

"He can be a daddy's boy, too," she replied, smiling at him, carefully eying all the toys that continued to appear in the nursery. He had learning mats, stuffed animals, colorful building blocks, rattles of all shapes and sizes, two rocking chairs and a crib to rule a kingdom. The tiny baby, not yet born, would be Prince of Manhattan.

Eleanor brought them more and more footed onesies, which Chuck scowled, and had infant-sized suits made, which Blair insisted the child would not wear for a few months. Regardless, there were bowties, ties, scarves, all custom-made for the soon to be born Bass.

And when she fell asleep before him – which became more and more common as the months dragged on – he would lay awake and watch her, ear to her heart, hand on his son.

So it came as a surprise when Chuck died the night his son was born, and Blair lived. Because it was not the way he had feared it would've gone. He had been so reluctant to leave her that week as she quickly approached her ninth month. Her belly was huge, she waddled unhappily and she was bitchier than usual. But an earthquake in Los Angeles had left him no choice but to take a plane out to the area, so he had left his young wife behind.

She had seen the fear in his eyes as he dropped her hand and walked reluctantly to the limo. He had asked God to make sure she was OK. God had kept his promise. When Blair went into labor a few weeks early, Chuck had panicked and rushed home. His plane was lost somewhere over the Rockies.

When Lily and Rufus had carefully told the very angry and scary Mrs. Bass the news of her husband, the baby boy had no choice but to be born amidst the screams of his crushed mother.

Brenton Charles Bass-Waldorf was the prince he was promised to be. The youngest heir and richest little baby in all of New York. His name was picked by his late father, and the first time Blair was able to look at him was five days after he was born. She had been too weak. Unlike her son, who was strong, proud and hungry for his mother's milk despite having been born so young.

Blair's pale face took in the tiny pink one that was latched on to her nipple, suckling hungrily. Eyes closed and small, peeling fist resting on the side of her enlarged breast.

She dared not make a sound, dared not touch him out of fear that he would stop eating.

At five days old, his strong brows and slightly slanted exotic eyes told the world that he was a Bass, through and through. He had slick, straight dark hair just like his father, which stuck out in all directions with no intention of being combed. He wore little cashmere socks and a small blue hat that she was sure her mother had taken care of coordinating.

It took her a good ten minutes to see some of herself in the little boy. It was when he let go of her nipple and yawned widely that she finally saw he had her nose and lips.

That was the first time Blair Bass smiled since the news of her husband.

The tiny face peered up at her, silent and calm. He had his father's essence. Blair wondered if Chuck's spirit had somehow come into his son the moment he had died. This made a tear plop down on the baby's face from her own, and he let out an angry cry.

_Three Months Later_

She still could not peacefully sleep through the night. Her little boy, who slept next to her on her large empty bed, barely made a noise until seven in the morning, after which he let out an angry, demanding wail for food. She jumped, ready for the distraction and the disappearance of the shadows in the room.

"There, there, my love," she whispered to the small boy in footed onesies. He kicked his little agile legs angrily, just like he used to when he laid inside of her belly, responding to his father's feather-light touch. "I know you're hungry," she said.

His little head bounced on her shoulder, squirming in his indignant search for food as she adjusted her gown to reveal a large breast. Brenton, sensing food entirely too close yet so far for his comfort, let out an angry, high-pitched wail as his tiny fist banged against the bare skin of her collarbone.

"No patience," she chided, a bare smile on her lips as she repositioned her child and quickly inserted the dripping nipple into his desperate mouth.

Baby Bass let out a contented sigh, and all signs of anger vanished from his small brows as his eyes drifted closed. Blair ran her fingers over her son's silky hair as the little boy snuggled closer to her and the source of his nutrition. He was absolutely perfect, she thought. Times like these – when the only sound in the room was the suckling noises he made, his little body warm against hers – he was absolutely perfect. It was just the two of them… just the two of them.

When Brenton had his fill, he simply let go of her nipple and stared up at his mother with his father's eyes. At times, times like these, when the room was dark and cool, she would be chilled to be bone. The baby blinked at her, slow almond-hazel eyes eerily still and knowing.

"What are you thinking about?" She whispered to her baby, touching his soft cheek and making him smile for no other reason than feeling his mother's touch. "You're so much like your father…" But the words died in her throat.

Brenton, sensing his mother's melancholic mood, kicked his legs a bit and babbled.

"I'm sure you know it." She smiled down at her baby and picked him up to stare at him head on. "He named you, you know."

The baby drooled from his mouth and let out another crackle of laughter.

Blair, allowing his small laughs to ease her spirit, set him down and began to pepper him with kisses from his little legs to his stomach, fingers and then face. He ate it up, basking in his mother's attention and staring at her with adoration.

And then he fell asleep again and the distraction was gone.

Blair watched him, the rise and fall of his tiny chest, as he whimpered slightly in his sleep. As his little fingers twitched, becoming peaceful once more once she rubbed her hand over his stomach, comforting him.

He always slept next to her large empty bed.

"_Blair, dear… Perhaps we should at least clear the closet." Lily suggested, watching her daughter-in-law anxiously. "I don't think it is healthy that you stare at it each day… it's been five months now, dear."_

_And she was thankful when Brenton, as if sensing the attempt to remove his father from the room, started crying. No amount of soothing from his mother would calm him. He wanted neither milk nor bed, and Blair Bass was at a loss._

"_Let's talk about this later, Lily, please," Blair pleaded, looking over her son's angry pink face._

"_Very well," an even more concerned Lily acquiesced, smoothing her hand over her grandson's dark brown head of hair._

_When she left, Brenton stopped crying and gave him mother a gummy-grin, letting out a high-pitched squeal._

"_Overprotective of Daddy, too, aren't you?" She asked him, and he sneezed into her blouse as a response. A gentle baby sneeze worthy of a stomach tickle._

One Month Later.

"Dorota!" Blair's booming voice was heard through the large home. "Dorota!"

Frantic steps were heard down the marble hallway, echoing with their urgency. Her ever so faithful maid's lovely plump figure came bustling towards her, eyes wide with concern. Nowadays, it seemed that Dorota's permanent facial expression was concern. Ever since… Ever since things became so very awful.

"What is wrong, Miss Blair?" She asked, huffing and puffing.

Blair turned her head, her hair in a sharp bun and body clothed in a puritanical dress, with matching dark stockings and severe shoes. Dorota had seen her young charge dressed in many a thing in her day, but she had never seen her so closed off. The only person she would allow near her was the little angel (as Dorota called him).

"The baby's bottles were not properly sanitized, Dorota. I insist you keep these nurses in line. I wouldn't want my child getting sick from a badly cleaned bottle, would I?" Blair snapped, pointing at the spotless bottles all arranged before her.

Brenton pushed himself up and down in his bouncer, wiggling his chubby baby legs as he happily chewed on a gummy toy. He was cross-eyed in his intent. He _would_ defeat the gummy toy.

Dorota studied the clean bottles doubtfully. Blair had taken to becoming very irate over the smallest things. Such as last week, when she fired two maids and nearly killed another after finding out that Chuck's ties had been re-arranged in another closet in order to make room for Blair's new fur collection.

"I sorry, Miss Blair. I will talk to them very sternly," Dorota assured her, nodding.

A small smile graced Blair's lovely face as she turned to notice the baby staring up at her in ever-present adoration. Dorota breathed, happy to be out of the line of fire.

"Are you getting the upper hand on that evil toy, my love?" Blair's demeanor changed completely as she squatted down to talk to the baby. Baby Bass, loving the attention from his mother, let out a squeal and showed her the wet toy as proof of his prevalent attack. He babbled an explanation with mass detail and completed his testament with a mean bite to the red rubber.

"My son, the warrior," Blair chuckled, and Dorota's heart clenched.

Blair had not shed a tear in front of anyone since Chuck's plane had gone down. She was cold and reserved and submerged herself in her son, ignoring absolutely everything else. She was meaner than usual, ignored her friends and refused to let anyone move anything that had belonged to Chuck. Everything was in its place as if he were going to walk in at six o'clock, kiss his wife and bounce his son on his knee. In her mind, Dorota was sure this was what Blair thought.

This troubled her beyond belief. Eleanor had tried, Harold had tried, Serena had tried, Nate had tried, Eric had tried, Lily had tried, Cyrus had tried – even that boy from Brooklyn had come and left with a black eye. Blair had actually seemed to enjoy that one. They had all tried and they had all failed.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, Blair Bass ordered her staff around, catered to her son's every need and seemed to live her life as if her husband would walk through the door at any given moment. When the sky darkened and her baby whimpered in need of sleep, she would come to the realization that Chuck was not coming home. That she would sleep alone in her large bed, and it would be the same the next day. So she would take her baby behind closed doors and spend the evenings there. She didn't leave the room unless the child needed something she couldn't provide, and Dorota never heard her sob. Not once.

It was evident that Blair was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

So Dorota would pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. If Mister Chuck were here, he would know how to get through her. He always knew. But Mister Chuck was not here, and the maid clenched her eyes at that reminder.

"How did she do today?" The daily call from Eleanor made Dorota repeat what she always said.

"The same, Miss Eleanor. She get mad today about bottles, which were clean and she said they were not." Dorota sighed. "If Mister Chuck were –"

"But he's not," Eleanor snapped, annoyed at the daily reminder that the little boy with pale skin she had met when he was a child could have this impact on her daughter. An impact so large it would destroy her.

When Eleanor found out about Charles' death, she hoped that Blair would deal with it. With daily sobs, slight neglect of her son and home, but then eventually she would accept his absence. But Blair had done the opposite. She had become militant in everything she did, and her mother came to the realization that she didn't know her daughter at all. She didn't realize her daughter had loved that young boy with the pale skin so very much. She loved him so much that his absence was making her decay, and Eleanor finally became afraid that she would lose her daughter.

"I will suggest France again," Eleanor concluded.

"But, Miss Eleanor, you know what happened last time…" Dorota reminded her.

They both remembered. Eleanor had mentioned France when the child was but two months old, and Blair had coldly looked at her mother.

"_This is our home, Mother." Blair had stated, losing her appetite for the steamed asparagus._

"_He's not coming back, Blair. He's gone." Eleanor had replied, a desperate attempt to shake her daughter out of the emotional coma she seemed to have fallen into._

_Blair's fork had fallen limply out of her hand. "You're such a frigid bitch. No wonder Daddy never loved you."_

Needless to say, it was never spoken about again.

The inhabitants of the Bass penthouse retired for the evening. Dorota lay in her bed, tossing and turning, still dreaming of solutions to 'fix' Blair. Mrs. Bass watched her angelic son drift to sleep contentedly, fed and warm on his tummy as she hummed to him.

None realized that as they closed their eyes and drifted to slumber that night, things would finally change come the morning light.

One diced grapefruit. One hard-boiled egg sans yolk. One small glass of sugar-free apple juice. One whole wheat toast with no butter or jelly.

The contents were always the same. Dorota, an expert at this new routine, oversaw the breakfast process for Mrs. Bass. The time was 6:47 AM, and Blair would come out of her room in exactly three minutes. Not a minute before. Not a minute after.

Liza, one of the new maids in whom Dorota saw actual potential, bustled in with the daily newspaper in her hand. Dorota sighed. This was the missing piece. Blair would methodically read the paper, like Chuck had often done, from beginning to end. By the end of it, Brenton usually woke and demanded his mother's attention.

"Dorota –" Liza was out of breath, her face pale and nervous.

"Ah, paper. Good girl, go make tea –"

"But Dorota –"

"Miss Blair wake in one minute, go make tea –"

"But you don't understand –"

The older maid huffed loudly and glared angrily at her younger protégé. "Miss Liza, if you wish stay –"

"What is the ruckus?" Both ladies froze as they turned to stare at the pale-faced Mrs. Bass. She sported her flowered silk robe like she always did, her hair already in her tight chignon and her face properly scrubbed.

"Nothing, Miss Blair." Dorota yanked the paper from the girl and placed it next to the sugar-free juice, where it belonged. "Here, paper –"

"But Dorota!" Liza cried, horrified, and Blair blanched at the girl's display.

"Dorota, if this poor, displaced thing can't control her voice –" Blair snapped, her eyes angry at the disturbance of her routine.

"Don't read the paper, Mrs Bass. Don't read it!" The girl cried in agony.

Dorota then understood. Her eyes widened as her eyes landed on the folded newspaper. Blair's eyes also landed there, and she gulped.

How many hours, how many days and weeks had she waited for news? Nothing came. The plane was still lost, the ever-present emptiness consumed her soul. The unknown. The inability to close a chapter, leaving the book frighteningly open and vulnerable. All her answers could be there; all that she wished to know was seconds away from her.

All she had to do was read.

A younger Blair perhaps would've read it. A younger Blair would've perhaps had more faith. But this Blair was a different person. A different monster.

"Read it, Dorota," she commanded.

Dorota's eyes were wide and frightened. She shook her head. "No, Miss Blair."

"Read it." Her tone and demeanor left nothing to be questioned.

The maid's last intention was to cry for the young girl who had seen so much heartbreak. It was her last intention. Yet sometimes, in this short life, our last intentions are often our first actions.

"No, Miss Blair, please," the maid sniffled.

For the first time, in a long time, Blair took in her maid. Her throat constricted at her shaken voice.

"Please. Don't make me read it," Blair finally said. Dorota looked up at the young girl, at the young mother, and finally saw her humanity. That humanity she had long-ago hidden from the world and its pitying gaze.

With a shaky, pale hand, the maid reached out and took back that which she had placed down. With a shaky, pale hand, the maid opened the paper slowly. She swallowed, her eyes instantly closing in on the picture that stared back at her. That handsome young man she had known as a child. That same child who had pulled her Miss Blair's brown curls and made her cry. That same child who had loved her, hated her and loved her even more. Who had made her laugh, cry, run and hide. That same boy stared back at her. The same boy she had witnessed become a man, though the road were arduous and rough. That same man stared back at her. Next to him were the first pictures of the destroyed Bass plane.

"Read it." Blair's soft voice broke through her reverie.

"Bass Plane Found early this morning… Twelve out of the seventeen bodies found."

Dorota, strong and gentle, slowly looked up at her Blair. The girl's face was stone-rigid.

"Oh, good. He's still missing," she whispered.

"Miss Blair, please –" Dorota pleaded.

"He's not dead!" Her voice was so strong that it resonated throughout the home. Then the small distant cry of an innocent baby boy was heard, shaking Blair out of her trance. "He's not dead."

Dorota honestly thought that it would be years before Blair really broke down, and she would be there to pick up the pieces. The truth was that Blair broke down in that very moment, and she was still there to pick up the pieces.

Blair's face finally crumbled when she snatched the paper from Dorota's hands and saw the face that haunted her nights. As Dorota gathered the young girl's body in her arms, her shaking and screaming bounced against the walls. The paper fell on the floor, and Charles Bass' face stared up at her from the depths.

Blair's next sentence should've foretold the maid of what storm was coming.

"Damn you, Chuck. DAMN YOU!"

Because there was no body, his stepsister and adoptive mother gathered bits and pieces they had of him in their own apartment and filled the casket with relics of the great Chuck Bass. Nate found an old basketball and a picture of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club when they were but eight years old and placed them in the casket. Eric took the video games they had enjoyed together and also placed them in the casket. No one dared to ask anything of Blair, but Dorota hustled out a picture of Blair in her wedding dress, getting ready before the ceremony. She thought Chuck would've liked to keep that with him for eternity.

Blair never made it to the funeral. Her doctor thought it best that she rest.

As the crowd slowly disappeared on that rainy afternoon and the night took over the sky, Eric was the last one left by the grave. From his pocket, he took out a picture of Blair and Chuck at their engagement party. Blair was laughing at something, and Chuck was staring blatantly at her with adoration. Eric also took out a picture of his godson, a responsibility he shared with Nate, and placed it next to his parents' picture.

"Chuck… Wherever you are… You're missed. Your family misses you… Your wife misses you, and I'm sure your son will, too," he whispered, and the gray rain that splattered on his face camouflaged his tears.

And it begins....

A/N: I read somewhere that Chuck had shown his true colors and was now soulless and evil. I thought, "what a farcical comment," but then I started thinking… How about I make him REALLY soulless? How about I make him *gasp* a vampire? Now my vampires are NOT Twilight or Vampire Diaries related, so take that lore out of your head. This is a much darker, bloodier tale. More along the lines of the True Blood/Buffy/Anne Rice vampires and, because I'm going to be dwelling in the supernatural, it gives me artistic liberties, which are always great. This story will most likely be updated on a bi-weekly basis (that means twice a week) and for those of you who've read my stories before I dont really like to chill my characters in their current surroundings. This story will move at its own pace so please dont expect Chuck/Blair interaction right away. It will come when it will come. As always, I love your comments. Thank you so much and I really hope you enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: A special thanks to my beta, Tatiana.

* * *

_"I was good and bad, but never wicked."  
~ Anne Rice_

"_I need you not to panic, ok?" Her voice was shaky, and his stomach instantly dropped. "I'm fine. The baby is fine, ok?"_

"_What's happening?" All thoughts, both real and imagined, fluttered from his mind and landed in a place that he avoided thinking about. That place where desolation reigned and life was but a whisper in the ancient winter wind._

"_I'm… I'm in labor –" There was a grunt. "But I'm fine, really – FUCK!" She took measured breaths._

"_I'm on my way –"_

"_Just please, I just need you not to panic, please." Her voice was a bare hiss. She was controlling her words, calculating exactly how much he should know before he became completely useless to her in his fright._

"_I'm not. I'm calm. Where are you?" His steps, young and swift, were already carrying him towards the limousine. His jaw was sharp, his eyes were dark. He knew something like this would happen. He would not lose her. His kingdom for his bride. His kingdom for his son._

"_I'm at the hospital. Serena, Mom, Dorota and Nate are here. Eric is on his – damn it!" She took a sharp breath. "Watch it, bitch!"_

"_Blair –"_

"_My IV, this technical school graduate has obviously never inserted a needle!" He couldn't help but smile. That was his Blair. A bitch to the bitter end. But this was not the end. No, it wasn't. He needed to get back home._

"_Listen, I'll probably be in labor for hours. I'll still be in labor when you get here – please leave my room and find someone to help me that has at least a fifth grade reading level – so there's no rush. Some women are in labor for over twenty-four hours. And I'm not having this baby without you, Basshole, so no need to worry. Don't stress Arthur. You know he hasn't been the same since his heart attack. You should make him retire, I've told you this before -"_

_He let her talk. Talking meant that she was fine. That he would get there on time. By the time she finished her tirade, they were already at the executive airport and he was waiting impatiently while the Bass jet was fueled and checked._

"_Mr. Bass, there's a really bad storm over the Rockies, we will have to take an alternate route –"_

"_Chuck, what is going on?" Blair demanded on the line._

"_Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Listen, Blair… I will see you in six hours. Make sure you hold on so you can scream at me in the height of your labor pains," he placated her._

"_Chuck…"_

"_I love you. You know that, right?" His voice trembled but just a bit._

_She was quiet on the line. "I'm going to be fine, Chuck. I know you. Please don't worry, I'm going to be fine."_

"_I know you will," Chuck assured her, lying through his teeth._

"_Liar. I still love you." She was smiling, he could tell. _

"_In case he's born, and I'm not there, you know what to name him. Also, make sure Nate doesn't take a peek at the process, otherwise his godfather rights will be forfeited." This made her laugh, and her voice was airy as she hung up._

_He turned sharply to his pilot. "How much will this alternative route delay us?"_

_The older man rubbed his forehead. No one wanted to be the one to tell Chuck Bass bad news. "Two hours. We can make it by way of Houston."_

_Eight hours she would be alone. No. He couldn't do that. He had to risk it._

"_We go through the storm. My wife is in labor." His words were short and measured._

"_But Mr. Bass –"_

"_My wife is in labor, did you not get that? We make it through the storm. I have a son to name and a wife to get home to." _

_It was an hour and a half into the flight when the thought passed his mind that perhaps __**he**__ would be the one not to make it. His throat constricted just thinking of Blair hearing the news that she had really lost him this time. She would be broken. Shaking as the plane was, with difficulty he pulled a paper out of his briefcase. His hand was trembling so much that the words were hardly recognizable. But he managed what little he could. _

"_I love you both. I'm sorry."_

_He looked out the window; it was a surreal experience, seeing what so few had lived to tell about. So this was death, he thought._

_In his short and fast life, he'd had moments when he thought he would lose himself completely. One was when he realized his father didn't love him because his birth had caused his mother's death. Two, when he lost his father. Three, when he thought he had lost Blair. This would be four._

_A lightening hit the wing of the plane and down they went._

"_I'm so sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry." It was his mantra._

_And then, when he realized death was imminent, it wasn't as scary. It wasn't as cruel. He would just fall, fall into emptiness. People around him screamed. People around him sobbed._

_Not him. It was a serene sort of calmness. Nothing – not his millions, not his power, not his love for his wife and child – could save him. There was but one thing to do. Accept it._

_He had lived a good life since life started, and life didn't start until Blair came into it. She made him the man he had become. Time without her made him weak; she balanced him. His last thought, right before the sharp metal crashed into the stone of the mountain, was if his son would look like him._

_

* * *

_

_When he slept, he had nothing but dreams. Dreams of darkness and of things burning and stabbing him. He sought his bed in his delirious sleep, he sought his wife but found no one._

"_Wake up, Bass. Wake up. It's not your time." Her voice was so distant. So soft. He could almost smell her._

_And when his eyes finally opened, he saw such horrors. He felt such pains. So much pain, he couldn't breathe._

_He let out a howl, but it gargled in his throat. Why wasn't he dead? Was this hell? Was he to spend eternity in such pain?_

_Voices. He heard voices in the darkness. Voices and whispers._

_And then wind in the stiff cold. He felt inexplicable terror rush through his veins. He couldn't move; his body was shattered. His body was done._

"_Talon!"_

_His eyes widened as his mouth stayed agape, and there in the darkness came to him a demon. With pale yellow eyes and fangs, his face twisted and evil. Pure malevolence._

"_You've had your fill, Talon." A deep, throaty voice came from the darkness, but Chuck's eyes were fixed on the demonic face before him. _

"_He's ripe, my lord, I can feel life leaving him," the demon hissed. "And he's young, and –" The demon's hand grasped his balls and squeezed them until they hurt, making Chuck jump and grunt. " – __**packed**__. Let me have him, my lord."_

_And then a hand, strong and calloused, grabbed the demon and pulled him violently away in such an easy motion that it scared Chuck more than the demon itself ever could. Whatever was in the darkness was stronger and more powerful than the demon. And Chuck Bass knew power. This kind of power frightened him._

_He expected something horrific, from the very depths of Hell, to come to him. Now he understood the statement 'the devil is a gentleman,' because that's exactly what he was._

_A man in his early 40s with a handsome face and well-combed red hair appeared before him, and light came with him. Chuck blinked away the darkness. He was sure he was in Hell. The horrific wreck was before them, and the stench of blood flooded his senses._

_The man studied him, studied his features, and reached out to touch the skin on his neck – and that was when Chuck saw it. Fangs. Fucking fangs. He started to struggle for real. This was not happening. These things didn't exist. He was dreaming; he was delirious. All he had to do was stay alive until help arrived. Then he could wake from his nightmare._

"_Do you believe in God, child?" The man asked, and his voice was old and ancient. It was a thick English accent, as if he'd lived a hundred years._

_Chuck glared at him. True, his arms were limp and probably missing, his body was probably in shock, and he was most likely minutes away from bleeding to death… But he was still Chuck Bass._

"_I believe in me. I believe in Chuck Bass," he whispered. His throat… He had no saliva left._

_The man chuckled softly. "What an interesting answer. I haven't had such an answer in; let me see… It must have been a few hundred years. Give or take."_

_Chuck shook his head. This was not possible. This was not real. _

"_Oh, yes… the denial. This is not possible. This is not real. I've had such thoughts myself, Charles," the man continued, now tenderly touching his collarbone._

"_Go away." Chuck turned his head, eyes closed. "Let me die in peace."_

"_From what I can tell, you're about twenty-seven hours from death. Your legs are both broken perhaps shattered and pinned under the seats. A few cracked ribs, a concussion, a broken hand and a dislocated shoulder. You also most likely have internal…" The man's mouth watered. "… bleeding. Your body… has given up before you have."_

_Chuck swallowed. He sounded fucked. That would explain all the pain and the hallucinations. _

"_You don't feel it much now because your weak body is in shock… but in a few hours… you will beg for death." The man's voice dropped to a sticky whisper. "And when that happens… I will be there. I will taste your sweet young blood."_

"_Please… please help. I… my wife…m-my wife, she's in labor…" Chuck pleaded. A deal with the devil. Visions of Blair by herself screaming for him assaulted his muddled brain._

_The man chuckled. "Not my problem, child."_

"_I beg you. I can make it worth your while," Chuck was desperate._

"_A rich man… always, always attempts a deal." The man sat back, chuckling, and it infuriated Chuck. "I have more riches than you can possible have in your short lifetime. I have no interest in it. I suggest you leave it to your wife and child."_

"_Please… please… get help." Chuck attempted to move his arm, to grab the man and beg him, but sharp pain shot up his arm and nearly made him pass out._

"_I told you," the man chuckled. "Dislocated."_

_Chuck coughed, which hurt even more. He felt knives being shoved at him from the inside out._

"_Then kill me… please…" Chuck begged. He wanted death. He wanted the horrible pain to end._

"_Oh, I will. Trust in that fact." The man smiled._

"_I…" Little lights appeared behind his eyes, and deeply he slept. When he woke, he felt death upon him. Life had to be far away when there was so much pain. So much pain. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to yell, but all he could do was moan._

"_He still lives, my Luther."_

"_Yes… How very interesting."_

_He opened his eyes and saw the man and the demon staring at him. The demon was literally being held back by the fanged-man's hand._

"_Kill me… Kill me now," Chuck begged. "I can't…"_

"_Let us, my Luther. He begs for it." The demon nearly salivated. "Let us feast on his body."_

"_What is your name, child?" The man asked, and Chuck's eyes rolled to the back of his head, the pain was so immense. _

"_Chuck… Charles Bass," he whispered._

"_Do you want to live, Charles?" The man asked, his head cocked._

"_No, Luther! You promised me a red head. He lacks red, he's all pale and dark, There's darkness in him, Luther," Talon protested, like a child._

"_Yes… There's darkness," Luther answered calmly. "Bring the witch."_

"_No!" Talon cowered, hiding his face in Luther's shoulder._

"_Bring her. Don't touch her skin, but bring her." Luther pushed the demon away and studied Chuck's prone body._

"_Kill me," Chuck whispered, over and over again as his mind went in and out of consciousness. _

_A rattling woke him from the fog as a thing was pushed next to him. A ratty, dirty thing that made the homeless in New York look awake and refreshed._

"_Read him, Witch," Luther commanded, looming over her, seemingly seven feet tall._

"_A penny, a penny, Vampire. Give us a penny for our thoughts," the thing hissed._

"_I'll give you no such thing, Witch. Read the human and remember your oath," Luther implored, pushing her with his foot, making her stumble over Chuck. Her stench permeated his senses and he felt like vomiting. _

_The mad woman laughed, her teeth gone and her hair wiry wild. _

"_A vampire for a zombie. I'd rather have a zombie," she wheezed. _

_This wasn't happening; Chuck's unclear brain was playing tricks on him. He was dead, he was sure._

"_Read him!" Luther's voice was now thunder. "Read the bloody human!"_

"_Bloody, bloody, ohhh… fresh…" The woman licked wounds on his face, laughing manically. "Yes…." She moaned, and her face was now before him. She was grotesque. Hideous. Disfigured. He blanched. "Look at me, human, little human full of blood."_

_His eyes became fixated on her coal black ones; she was death itself. _

"_Tell… what is the worst thing you've ever done. No lies, no little white lies… what is the most evil thing you've done… the most decrepit… the most abominable … buried there in the deep darkness of the human soul. The human soul, which is capable of more evil than anything else on Earth. Tell us, tell us. Confess…" The woman chanted, and Chuck felt a strange pull and a sensation of violation. He tried to fight against the onslaught, tried to simply forget… tried… "Ohh… there it is… how very very __**bad**__ you've been… ohhh…. Yes. YES!"_

_And flashes assaulted him, when he nearly lost Blair forever, when he sold her, when he tricked her, yet loved her. He saw himself through others' eyes, and it made him want to vomit. He convulsed. He shook. He was empty._

"_Mother, Mother, let us know, show us destiny, show us path…." The witch chanted, and then she screamed. An ear-piercing scream. A scream of terror. "DEATH! Oh, he brings death!"_

_Chuck's eyes widened as she threw herself back, horror written on her tormented features._

"_He brings death with him!" She cried and turned, grabbing a fallen piece of glass in her bare hands, the sharp edges cutting into her wrinkled hands. She held the glass over Chuck._

"_Yes…" Chuck said in a welcomed whispered, but before the blade could come down and end his torment, the witch was kicked to the other side of the debris. Luther loomed over him, his teeth winking at Chuck in the dying of the night._

"_He brings death, Luther, he brings it!" Talon cried, grasping at Luther's coat. "Let us end the human's torment and feast on his lovely, lovely blood!"_

_But Luther stared down at him._

"_He's the one! He is the one, Luther Pendragon! He brings death to your red head! He will kill you. He will rip your head from your body!" The witch continued to whimper into herself. _

_Luther continued to stare down at Chuck's dying body. _

"_Kill the human. Kill him, or it'll be your grave that you dig!" The witch wailed. "Child of prophesy must die, must be drained, must be sacrificed to the goddess so that her anger will die with his blood!"_

_Luther knelt next to Chuck, his larger body casting a dark shadow over the human._

"_Kill me," Chuck begged. "I need it to end."_

"_Who are you?" The man whispered._

"_I've told you… I'm Chuck Bass…" His breath was short. The very last of it. Luther ran his pale hand over Chuck's face, lovingly, like a caress. _

"_From now on, you shall be known as Mack Pendragon. Mack Pendragon… My childe."_

_And so it was that amidst the wails of the frail witch and the spineless Talon, the great Luther Pendragon, ruler for a millennium, finally named an heir to his throne. Miles and miles away in a land where such darkness was but a myth found in storybooks, a baby wailed. A child was born as his father slowly lost his life._

_

* * *

_

The news of the young heir traveled the land and the seas within three short days. Chuck Bass, now baptized Mack Pendragon, knew nothing of the happening. All that he remembered in those three days were horrible, horrible dreams. Dreams of a woman with spread legs and blood gushing forth from between them. So much blood.

He was disgusted that he felt hungry for such obscenities. When he woke, his member stood erect and tall, begging to sink itself into the warmth.

"Such dreams, my childe, such dreams…" The man who never left side comforted him. And he was a child again, whimpering and clutching on to the man.

On the third day, he woke enough to take in his surroundings. He was still in pain, but his mind was scattered. He didn't know how he got there. It was a dark maroon room, filled with candles and tapestries and rich cherry wood.

The man came to him once more, dragging a limping, bloody woman who was crying and shaking her head.

"No, please, no –"

"Childe, you wake from your nap," the man said.

"Where am I?" Chuck asked, stumbling in the near darkness.

"Safe… now… I brought someone for you. I tried to pull Talon away, but he's such a hungry little thing…" The man's voice was gentle and kind.

"Mr. Bass! Mr. Bass! Help me, Mr. Bass!" The woman cried, and Chuck stared at her, confused. He didn't know her; he'd never seen her, or had he? Who was he? She continued screaming, begging for him to help her.

The man, having had enough of her screams, quickly grabbed her neck and, with the expertise of a skilled butcher, easily snapped it.

"Shame, they always scream so…" The man said tenderly, kissing the dead woman on the lips. "But we must, hurry, childe. Her blood is but warm."

Chuck shook his head, backing up against the wall, wanting this whole nightmare to go away.

"No, please –"

"Drink now, childe… Drink her." His words lulled Chuck and, before he knew it, her neck was shoved in his face. A part of him – the part that told him this was wrong, the part that was disgusted with this mess – recoiled. But then… the part that felt the warmth of her body ached to have her. Ached to drink her and sink his teeth, like an animal into her and then sheath himself in her warmth. That part of him won out and, soon enough, he was drinking, drinking and humping her.

When he was sated, when he was spent, he stared at the man with wide eyes, his lips filled with fresh warm blood.

"Yummy in the tummy?" The man smirked.

Chuck could only nod. He felt like a zombie. He didn't know who he was, _what_ he was, or what he could have possibly done so wrong in life to make him a monster. A soulless creature that drank blood from innocent dead women.

The lowly laugh made him snap out of his thoughts. "Now… for my great and most incredible trick. I shall make your soul… disappear!"

Chuck gaped at him. "I don't want it to –"

"Aww… It's too late for that, childe. You already _begged_ for death. Like I knew you would, and now…" The man was swiftly before him, grasping his neck and elevating him in the air, an impossible human feat. "You belong to _me_."

His small, weak hands tried and attempted to push the creature off him, but it was too late. The man's fangs extended and they buried deep in his throat. The pain was incredible; it pulled his life away from him, yet an unexpected coil of pleasure birthed itself in the lower part of his belly. It brought memories of delight, of happiness. And in his last breath came a lonely thought. A face. A whisper of a memory that was gone and buried.

"Blair…" And then he died.

* * *

To be continued

A/N: Still trust me? I hope so ;) The next update will be sometime mid-week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: **I apologize if you get confused in these next few chapters, but Chuck will be referred to as 'Mack' since he doesn't recall his identity and his life. Until he realizes he's Chuck Bass he will be 'Mack Pendragon'****.** Also, a special thanks to my beta, Tatiana. She is the coolest, sexiest Gossip Girl fan ever, or so she says.

* * *

"_I have lived lies. I have done it again and again. I live lies because I cannot endure the weakness of anger, and I cannot admit the irrationality of love."  
Anne Rice_

It was good to be a prince. At only 37 vampire years, Mack Pendragon was everything a sire could want in a childe. Even at such a young age, he commanded presence and respect. In his sire's absence, it was Mack Pendragon who ruled; something that many before him had never done until their 200th year at least.

When a human is turned, they become a fledging. A scatterbrained, confused creature that will feed with no thought other than to kill and destroy. Without the guidance of a sire, a fledging could walk right out into the welcoming rays of the sun. A fledging was self-destructive for its first couple of decades. Mack was hitting a sort of teenage stage. His brain was becoming more and more organized, though it was still a struggle to retract his fangs and not kill his prey. He often did kill them, and Luther would come home to find an innocent-looking Mack with a dead girl at his feet. Luther had noticed that he had an instinctive attraction to brunettes. Brunettes with pale skin and wide brown eyes. Luther referred to it as a porcelain-doll addiction.

Mack received more schooling than many others, which might explain his much calmer demeanor. He was strong, stronger than a 37 year old should be, but then again his sire was over a millennium old. The blood he was fed monthly from his sire's wrist, which he gulped down like a newborn, made him mature ahead of time. The truth of the matter was that nowadays hardly any sires took time to properly raise a fledging, and this was the reason so many were killed or accidentally killed themselves. At least this was what Luther complained endlessly about. But not Mack. Mack was cared for, like a child; Luther spared no expense and ensured that his heir would be treated like the prince he was meant to be.

So that year, when he was finally allowed to leave his sire's protection, he quickly jumped at the chance to see Paris. Having lived the past few years tucked away in the city of Milan, Luther's preferred residence, he longed to explore the world. See places and taste bloods he had never tasted before.

"They say Parisian blood is richer than anywhere else in the world," Diego, another young vampire he had known for a few decades now, told him.

The two observed the younger fledglings below them fighting one another like they often did. Diego and Mack sat atop a building in a vibrant town in the outskirts of Paris. The humans were having a festival for the grapes and the smell of pumping veins attracted the vampire like moths to a flame. Mack's blood watered at the endless supply of lovely brunettes that danced and partied below.

"Have you ever been to Paris?" Diego asked Mack, and the latter shook his head.

"Not that I know of… all I remember is Milan," Mack replied, his eyes onyx-black with lust.

"Luther says the stench there will turn any vampire's appetite." Diego smiled easily, his blonde hair tossing in the wind, not noticing how deep in thought Mack was as he hunted a petite young brunette with his eyes.

"Last time Luther was in France was before _la guillotine,_" Mack smirked. "You know he abhors traveling far from Italy."

Diego laughed, throwing a hiss of warning to the fledglings. "Where we ever that young? That _stupid_?"

"I assure you we were," Mack nodded in the direction of the girl, and Diego instantly noticed her.

"Too dark," he commented. "You know I'm a fire-crotch man."

"Red meat," Mack chuckled.

"Oh, yes…" Diego replied.

"Go, Pendragon, I will babysit the young ones," Diego nodded, and Mack didn't have to be told twice.

A-hunting he would go.

To Mack, who had no memory of a time before his sire, hunting felt like something familiar. It was a game of strategy in which he, the hunter, carefully calculated the prey until he got them exactly where he wanted them. And this little morsel was not getting away from him. He would be diligent and careful, careful to keep her alive. He had promised Luther that much.

The young girl reminded him of all the young tourists that flocked to Milan in their stilettos and fashionable clothing. There was something about a well-dressed woman that turned him on even more. Especially with their hair swept up in a loose bun to reveal that most delectable part of the female body. The neck.

He felt his cock harden at the thought of pressing himself against her back and inhaling her scent from the base of her neck to the tip of her ears. Human scent. Not enough was said about humans and their scents. They all possessed a different strain of it, and Mack had fed on some good ones, some exquisite ones and some flat out horrid ones. Not that this ever stopped him from feeding. That endless hunger that plagued his days and night just made him grimace as he fed, but it left an odd aftertaste in his tongue, something that would need to be cured with Sire's blood. The sweetest, most powerful thing in the world. He'd have to choose carefully now; Luther was hundreds of miles away and would not be able to save his whimpering childe from a bad meal.

He stalked the outside of the grand party, his dark clothes masking him against the darkness. She was young. No more than 20. Perhaps on a college trip? Perhaps a student in France? He didn't really care; all he knew was that she was _his_.

He must've let himself be noticed because a group of her friends started pointing back to him and giggling like schoolgirls. Mack tried his best not to roll his eyes and groan. He had to play his role of charming mysterious bad boy. That persona, he had found, attracted woman like no other. They couldn't resist it. He'd also found that when he took on an accent it made it even better. Luther's English was old and fine, and he could easily imitate it for his benefit. Mack was also fluent in Italian and could play the Italian gentleman. He'd also recently finish his schooling in French and Spanish, and he longed to test out his newfound knowledge.

The brunette turned her head and looked at him, and he made certain that he locked eyes with her, seeing right through her. Pulling her to him. Like Luther had taught him. Her eyes lingered on his, and then she let out a nervous laugh, turning to her friends to sip her drink and discuss the handsome stranger.

A smirk formed on his face. _Got her_.

He walked easily to the bar and ordered himself a glass of red wine, waiting. Somehow, they always made the first move.

"Bonjour," she said, coming up behind him. He grimaced. Her French was atrocious. She must be American.

He turned to look at her, taking a slow sip of his wine, tasting the fine liquid as if he were tasting her blood. He looked her up and down, making her flush prettily. Heated blood. Nothing was sweeter than heated blood. Yes, there was a method to the madness.

She wore a light floral dress with dainty flats on her feet and her hair pulled back in a light ponytail. She had a great neck. A lovely neck. He longed to both caress it and destroy it.

"Cynthia," she introduced herself, and he smirked.

"Darwin," he replied. His endless names for himself to avoid any confusion. Or detection.

"French?" She asked, smiling easily at him. She had dimples.

"Non. Italian," he answered, feeling her melting as he played up his Italian accent.

"You speak English?" She asked, hopeful.

"Oh, yes," he smiled at her.

She looked right down elated. "Awesome."

Ugh. Slang. He hid his grimace with his glass of wine.

"Would you like to dance?" She looked expectant and her lack of coyness and dimensionality annoyed him to no end, like it always did with women. He had yet meet one that captured his attention. At times, when the hunger for blood didn't dominate his thoughts, he wondered if he had found such a partner in his human life. Then those thoughts dispersed because who wouldn't want to be a vampire? Humans were weak and disgusting. They reeked of death, of lives slowly counting down to nothing. Until old age or a monster like him found them, and then it was all over for them. He hated their weakness and how they struggled futilely against him. They lacked strength and endurance; they lacked the beauty of immortality; they lacked life. Or so that was what young Mack thought.

"I only slow dance," he explained, so very quietly that she had to lean in to hear him. The proximity of her tender neck was intoxicating and he licked his lips, an action she confused with sexual attraction.

"We can slow dance," she said, and in her eyes he saw what he had seen many a time that he played his gentle and precise game of seduction. He saw hope that he would be _the_ _one_. Women and their silly conventions. What they didn't see was that indeed he was _the_ _one_. The one who would either kill them or traumatize them for life. He took her hand without asking, her heat stinging him as she gasped at his much cooler touch. A strange thing on such a hot night, but women seldom noticed it.

He pulled her against him and slowly swayed her to the music. Her smaller body melted against him and he thought how lovely it felt to have a fragile little thing against him. And then her neck… her lovely neck was so very close to his mouth that he had to close his eyes and concentrate lest he take her then and there and cause what could become a deadly scene. He played all his cards, moved all the pieces and, before she knew it, he was kissing her deeply against the side of an old building. Pressing her small back against the stone; catching her where she couldn't escape and where he would finally have his dinner.

She moaned prettily against him, and he longed to plunge his cock into her as he drank deeply from her. But the chances of scaring her off were much greater, and he had learned from experience that drinking from fragile humans during sex would result in their death and horrible stains on his expensive sheets.

"Darwin…" she moaned his fake name against him, and he knew the shadows would overtake their bodies. Everyone would see them as lovers caught in a passionate embrace. His coat flapped open, covering them both. She smiled coyly at him, and that's when he knew it was time.

"I love your neck," he confessed, and she sighed, fisting her small hands in the lapels of his coat. "I could suck on it all day," he whispered and the stupid girl smirked, placing her hand on his head and pulling him to her neck.

A hickey wasn't really what he had in mind, he thought, amused.

The blood. Her blood called to him, thumping its little heartbeat against the cool of his lip. And there it was. Magic hour. He smiled against her neck.

"What are you waiting for?" Demanded the small little thing and, without having to be asked twice, he sunk his slick fangs into her neck – making her gasp first in shock and then, when his lower row of teeth clamped down on her throat, in pain.

She was… divine.

She had not died. Not really. He had left her slumped against the building, breathing softly. He had whispered a "Goodnight, sweetheart," and gone on his merry way.

* * *

The feeling one got after a feeding was an intense euphoria that could seldom be captured in human words. It was a high like no other. Every feeding intensified the strength of the mind and, because all vampires were born with the same strength, this only served to make them focus more. Mature them. He hoped one day, after enough feedings, he would be strong and wise like Luther.

He hoped to live up to the title he was meant to hold.

There was a theory that loving a human (a myth, really, since Luther had assured everyone love was an impossibility for vampires) and feeding from said human would increase the mental capacity of the vampire tenfold, hence increasing their strength and their abilities. But this was a theory, of course. Vampires couldn't love; they loved blood too much to love much of anything else.

Mack Pendragon, future ruler of the vampire world, strutted down the street. He used his senses to find his brothers and quickly realized they were hunting. He smirked, intent on watching the spectacle. There was nothing as humorous as watching fledglings struggle to find their footing. He rushed forward, his body agile from the recent feeding, pink and glowing. He found them quickly enough, with Diego on the top of the building watching down and amusing himself.

Quickly he climbed up the building, wishing he were strong enough to fly like Luther was. One day, he promised himself, _one day_.

"Pendragon," Diego greeted before Mack had even sat down.

"What morsel have they found?" Mack asked, pulling out a cigarette and placing it swiftly between his lips.

"A stupid American," Diego nodded toward the man walking below, minding his own business. The four fledglings hunted him in the shadows as the man walked further and further from the party. The man, dark haired and well dressed, looked over his shoulders a few times.

Mack paused, studying the human. He felt something… _odd _happen at that moment. Curiosity getting the better of him, he left a confused Diego behind, tossed his cigarette and climbed down a few stories to get a better look at him.

When he was close enough he paused, stupefied, as the man sighed, took out a cigarette and lit it. The _manner_ in which he did it intrigued Mack, as he realized he knew someone else with the same mannerisms. _He_ had them.

He studied the human's face from far away and his brows furrowed. He saw the fledglings closing in on the human, taking the human's pause for earthly delights as an opportunity not to be missed.

Before Mack could say anything, the youngest of the fledglings leapt forward and attacked the human full frontal. Mack, not knowing why, raced forward, climbing down the building faster than he ever had. He heard the man's astonished cry as the rest of the fledglings made themselves known and attached to the weak human.

Mack rushed forward, running to the scene and quickly yanked one of the weak things off the human, making him crashed nastily against the wall. The thing let out a cry of pain. He swiftly took another by the neck and yanked him off the human, throwing him where the other had landed. The third bared his fangs at Mack, daring him to attack. Mack retaliated instinctively, baring his own and growling at the fledgling, reminding him who was boss. It sent him whimpering back to the shadows, distraught at having his dinner denied. The fourth, taking advantage of being the last one, already had his fangs bared and was just sinking his teeth into the terrified human. Mack grabbed the last fledgling by the neck, pulled him away from the human and, with a vicious growl, snapped its neck. It wouldn't kill him, but it most likely wouldn't heal right. He would be a gimp for the rest of his vampire life until someone had pity on him and shoved him into the daylight.

He let out another angry roar, baring his teeth and crouching in defense mode, warning the fledglings to flee least they face his anger. When he knew they had run away, terrified and confused, he had time to actually _consider_ his behavior. He took an unnecessary breath and slowly turned to the human on the floor.

The man was gasping, eyes wide and holding his neck.

"Go," Mack growled, but the man, shaking off his thoughts, scrambled to his feet and looked Mack straight on.

"I think he _bit_ me," he said, horrified.

Mack could see how such a thing would be horrific to a human. Yet… there was _something_ about this human that he couldn't quite shake off. He was as tall as Mack, with a strong handsome face and dark hair. His skin was pale and he was well built. Mack cocked his head and studied the man's eyes and eyebrows. The man was still panting and holding his neck, looking around in fear of his attackers.

"Y-you saved me. H-he _bit_ me!" The man repeated.

And then the man's eyes landed on him and his face blanched. "Fuck," he whispered.

Mack felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the man and quickly turned to walk back into the welcoming shadows.

"Hey, wait! Wait!" The man cried after him.

Mack walked fast.

"Who are you?" The man demanded, running after him.

Mack rolled his eyes, annoyed at the entire situation and, more than anything, annoyed at his own insipid and unexplainable behavior.

"Go away, you're safe now," Mack ground out.

"It can't be… it just _can't_ be," he murmured, and Mack finally looked him full in the face. The man gasped.

"Oh, fuck… Are you like… an angel?" He whispered.

"Hardly," Mack found this extremely amused. _Him,_ an angel? He would chuckle about this for a while to come.

"You saved me… I mean… she always said that you would look after me, and you did… You _saved_ me," the man continued, his eyes wide and misty, so intense that he had to look away.

He shouldn't have interfered.

The man let out a chuckle. "I'm probably hallucinating… blood loss and all… but here you are, and I _see _you."

"You see nothing," Mack replied tersely.

"You're just like I imagined you to be… Chuck Bass…" The man looked ready to cry, and Mack looked longingly to the shadows, wishing he had stayed there. "Am I going to remember you when I wake up?"

Mack stared at him and decided on something, something drastic. He cocked his head. "Perhaps."

And then he took a good swing at him, knocking the man out unconscious and on the floor. He looked down at the human on the floor and slowly knelt next to him, studying his face. There was an inexplicable tug in his chest, and he simply did not understand it. He reached into the man's back pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it and found a New York license.

_Brenton Bass, _he read. His brows furrowed. He had called him "Chuck Bass." His thoughts shifted. He had to get out of here. Luther had warned him against humans recognizing vampires from their human life. It could get disastrous. At least the kid thought he was a vision after such a traumatic experience. He flipped through his wallet and stopped when he saw a picture of a young child smiling happily at the camera with the same eyes the man had looked him with. It was a boy… He pulled out the photo and read the back "Charles loves daddy". Mack gulped and looked down at the man. He was a father. The fledglings would've killed him for sure. He flipped to another photo that showed a younger-looking Brenton Bass with a young brunette, they smiled happily at the camera. He turned the photo: "Cannes in the Summer". He picked up the last photo and paused. He gulped and stared at the woman in it, transfixed.

Mack cocked his head, his jaw twitching as he looked at the beauty. She wasn't young but wasn't old. Her age was hard to tell, she looked no older than thirty-five and she was, what Mack would call the perfect brunette. Soft eyes, full lips, high cheekbones and thick wavy hair complimenting her pale skin. She looked elated, dressed in fine clothes and holding a newborn baby in her arms. He turned the photo with shaky hands. "Best looking grandma & Charles."

Huh. She was a grandmother, he pondered and studied her again. He touched her face softly and something unexpected happened. He smiled. She looked so happy with her grandchild, so proud of the baby. He touched her neck area and, for the first time since he could remember, he wanted to do something other than tear into it. He wanted to… _kiss_ it.

The man on the floor moaned a bit and this shook Mack out of his thoughts. He needed to leave. So he did something he had no explanation for. He _took_ the photo of the woman and the baby from the wallet and tossed the wallet on the floor next to the man. With one last look at the man, he turned and fled into the night.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Diego grabbed him, pushing him against the wall once he was in the shadows.

Mack, annoyed at being questioned, growled at him. The photo burning a hole into his pocket. "You forget who you're talking to."

This made Diego snap. Mack had never pulled rank on him. Even if Diego was a bit older than him, Mack was still a Pendragon and a prince at that. He would, one day, rule over Diego and Diego's family. Mack took the opportunity to shove Diego off him and stalked away.

"We need to leave," Mack announced. "The human recognized me."

Diego tossed a glance over his shoulder at the human who was slowly getting up and then turned to follow Mack into the night.

* * *

The photo became a sort of obsession to Mack for a few months until, one day, he misplaced it and forgot about it once more. One of his servants found it, and he told them to place it in a box at the back of his drawer.

For his 150th 'death day,' his sire had a grand picture painted of the Prince. It was not until he had seen the finished creation that his memory urged him for something. He searched for the photo from long ago and, when he found it, it was faded and nearly deteriorated. The young brunette must've been long dead, now yet he still felt the same stirrings in the pit of his stomach as that day he first saw her picture. The words "Best Looking Grandma & Charles" were all but gone. The picture was so distressed that it crumbled in his strong hand.

The vampire cocked his head, annoyed at his pretty picture dying. When he looked once more at the picture that had been commissioned for his coming gala, he realized what it reminded him of. It looked quite_ a lot_ like the young man he had saved all those years ago. That young man was dead now along with the baby the woman carried.

These thoughts troubled him for a while, but he shook it off when his sire called for him.

It was not until 320 years later that something would bring back all the players that had been neatly tucked in the back of the Vampire Prince's drawer.

* * *

To be continued

A/N: There is no need to panic. I assure you there is plenty of Chuck/Blair to come :) And before you ask, the reason "Mack" didn't recognize himself in Brenton is because he's never seen himself in a mirror, and Vampires don't show up in pictures. He only recognized mannerisms. Also, in case you didn't notice, Chuck doesn't remember who he was before his vampire days. I know many years have passed, but remember when I said I was taking "artistic liberties?" Yeah. Keep that in mind as I develop this story ;) The next update should be either Friday or Saturday and I promise a HOT sex scene for your lovely patience.


	4. Chapter 4

**Soulless****  
**_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: I apologize if you get confused in these next few chapters, but Chuck will be referred to as 'Mack' since he doesn't recall his identity and his life. Until he realizes he's Chuck Bass, he will be 'Mack Pendragon'. Also, a special thanks to my beta, Tatiana. She is the coolest, sexiest Gossip Girl fan ever, or so she says.

* * *

_"Just remember... life without me would be even more unbearable."  
Anne Rice_

It was a different dream, but with the same players. He looked up and there she was, riding his hard cock, hungry for him. Her breasts, small and perfect, bounced as she pushed herself up and speared herself down on him. He gasped as her tight muscles enveloped him, squeezing the life force out of him. The pleasure was intense; it was celestial. It was more than he could bear.

"_Tell me you love me," she moaned, raking her nails down his chest, paying special attention to his hard nipples. He would nod, unable to speak as she squeezed him once more. "This never gets old," she chuckled and then threw her head back, exposing her fine throat to him. He hungered to taste her, to lick the sweat from her moist body. He sat up, grabbing her well-defined ass as he went and pushed deeper into, making her gasp as she grabbed on to his back and held onto him._

"_I love you," he murmured in the outer shell of her ear and she grasped the back of his hair, yanking him to her and hissing in satisfaction._

"_Fuck me, Bass, fuck me hard," she demanded, and he was more than happy to oblige, flipping them over, throwing a pale leg over his shoulder and pushing into her until she was cross-eyed and screaming his name. He felt that delicious tingle in his balls as he was about to come; he held it as long as he could until he just couldn't anymore. Feeling his fangs extend, he hungrily leaned down and bit her savagely on top of a breast. Her blood was better than anything he had ever tasted – even his own Sire's blood didn't compare. She was life itself. He felt her come around him, screaming with no shame in pleasure as her hands grasped his hair, and came with her, fucking her until there was nothing left in him._

_He extracted his fangs from her soft dewy skin and lapped at the wounds, making faint purring sounds in the back of his throat. She was still out of breath, and he was still happily inside of her._

"_You've never fucked me better," she complimented, and he chuckled against her skin, still licking her chest, cleaning her of her sweat. He turned and looked at her, and she smiled easily at him, her finger reaching out to touch his fangs – something that felt extremely erotic._

"_I want my own pair", she whispered._

"_You wouldn't be as sweet," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. She sighed. _

"_Let me check on the baby," she whispered, and that statement alone made him jolt awake._

He gasped, sitting up, letting the darkness envelop him. His eyes shifted, his vampiric senses awoke. Some rustling next to him and a head popped up from under his silk red sheets. A blonde head.

"Would you like to fuck my ass, my lord?" The blonde asked in all seriousness, and the drastic change from the dream to the reality made him shudder in disgust.

"Later," he murmured and pushed another body off him as the girl moaned his name into her pillow. He walked naked and well hung through his room and towards the shower, stepping over two girls who were cuddled together in the fur rug by the flickering fireplace.

"Would you like some company, my lord?" The Asian one on the floor offered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and opening her legs for his viewing. He considered it and then shook his head, waving her off.

"Out. All of you." He barely heard them protest. "I'm hungry," he threw over his shoulder, knowing they would take care of his meal. In the palatial shower, he let the hot water drip over his head and down his muscular back as he stretched like a cat against the tiled wall.

Pictures and flickers of the brunette in his dreams were becoming more and more frequent. It had not always been that way; she had not always haunted him. Her assault had started in the past two hundred years or so. Ever since then, he avoided all girls that looked like her, preserving his fantasies of the perfect brunette with the hot ass and the domesticity of it all for his dreams. It was like he was remembering something, or perhaps he was inventing her over and over. At times he wanted to seek her out and see if such woman really did exist, and at other times he wished she were not real because how could the real one compare to the wildcat of his dreams? Yet he had to admit that they were not all sex dreams. He had odd ones too; some troubled him, made him wake in shakes. Dreams of her with a babe, dreams of her crying, dreams and nightmares all mingled into one. Every dream was different. He didn't dream every night, not even every week, but she would visit him once in a while. And when she did, he wanted no woman or man. He wanted to bask in the memories the dream had created. He wanted her and only her.

But she never came, so he would sulk around until a trip to a new city cleansed his palette and he forgot about her all over again… Until the next dream.

He had to shake the dream off. Today was a special day; it was a day he had looked forward to for a long while.

He stepped out of his shower and dabbed himself off with a towel, walking to his room just as he was. It didn't surprise him to find Luther sitting calmly on a chair by the fireplace, looking as still and as regal as ever.

Kneeling by the door was a pretty slim girl with dark skin and hair braided into knots. She had large breasts that hung well over her bare chest.

"How is my champion?" Luther asked, smiling slightly at him, and Mack felt comforted at the sight of the old vampire. It has been some years since he had seen his sire.

"Welcome home, sire." Mack knelt before him, unconcerned with his nudity. Luther patted his head and made him stand.

"I have been abroad for too long, childe. I had forgotten the heat of Texas, dreadful place," Luther explained. "But one must do these things when one rules, childe. Take heed."

The dutiful childe nodded and looked on the girl. "Hungry, sire?" Mack asked.

"No, thank you, I just ate, but please…" Luther motioned for the girl to come, and she submissively stood and placed her naked body before Mack, offering her neck. Her eyes didn't dare look at him, but Luther openly studied her. "Hummm… interesting, childe. You've changed your diet."

"Meaning?" Mack asked, confused.

"I remember for years you would only feed on pale brunettes with small breasts," Luther commented, touching the girl's chest making her jump slightly, much to his amusement.

Mack's thoughts flittered to his dream. He had never told Luther of his dreams; his dreams were private. No one knew of them. Not one soul alive. "A man can develop different tastes," he countered.

Luther studied him with slick eyes and then finally nodded, accepting his answer. "Of course."

And then Mack hungrily bit into his breakfast.

* * *

"PENDRAGON! PENDRAGON!" The crowd chanted over and over in the specialized arena that Luther Pendragon had built in the lower chambers of his palatial estate.

The Prince was a favorite amongst the crowd, and many had come just to watch the spectacle that the Prince provided his audience.

Sitting on the very highest of thrones was Luther himself, dressed in regal black clothes, a small lazy smile on his face and a whimpering human male teen on his feet, humping against the elder's leg. On his right hand was a goblet of fine wine and his left hand came up to appease the yearning gathering.

"Silence!" He claimed, and the vampires settled, heeding the word of their ruler. "The Arena is a preserved tradition from before the time of my own father, Arthur, in the lands now forgotten, in the time before the humans devoured this fine earth."

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Every hundred years, we all gather for good blood, good company and good sport," he said, pausing to let the crowd roar in agreement. "For five days, we've feasted and drank our fill. No more politics, no more agendas… It is now time for what you all have been waiting for… The Arena of Champions!"

The crowd went into hysterics, and Luther stood to encourage their roars. They acquiesced.

"Our contenders: the General of the five Chinese tribes… What is his name?" He asked, annoyed.

"Hung Jian, my lord –" the duchess of public relations whispered to him.

"Hong John? Hong Kong? King fucking Kong??" Luther questioned angrily.

"Hung GI-AN," she enunciated.

"Fucking…" He turned and smiled charmingly to the crowd. "HUNG YOUNG!"

The crowd laughed merrily at the butchering of the name as the contender ran out from the arena floor door. He sported an angry face, too many scars and no clothing, making the crowd cheer louder for his huge member.

"They should've called him Hung Low," Luther quipped, and those that heard him laughed.

"Sire," the young public relations vampire admonished him.

"Yes, yes…" he dismissed her. "Our next contender, the Duke of the Kish Tribe, _Little John_!"

Out from the door of the arena bounced a small vampire with too many weapons and not enough height. The crowd boo-ed him.

"Who approved Tiny Tim?" Luther asked, confused.

"You did, sire," the PR vampire explained. Luther glared at her.

"And from the Americas, the one and only Alejandro Domang- dumand –"

"Dominguez," PR chick piped up.

"Alejandro Duminges!" Luther cried, and the PR Vampire groaned while the crowd cheered for the Mexican carrying a flag that hardly covered his large body.

"Now, for our champions… From that dark kingdom of African tribes, the ferocious –"

The crowd yelled in happiness.

"The malcontent… the fearless… Chief Jelani!" Luther cried enthusiastically.

The crowd absolutely lost it, cheering for one of their favorites as the tall and slick dark man walked to the center of the arena, his head shaved and his well-toned body painted in war colors. Jelani raised his hands to egg the crowd on, then suddenly climbed up to where Luther was. He dropped to his knees before Luther, bending his head to the ground.

"My liege," he whispered in a thick accent.

"Jelani, you look well," Luther nodded, pleased by his loyalty.

The younger vampire stood proud and tall, staring at the Vampire King. "I came to win, my lord. I need your blessing." The vampire council around Luther murmured, but Jelani stood his ground as Luther studied him.

"As King, I bless all of you, Chief," Luther declared, leaning back on his seat with a smirk.

"The way you bless your childe?" Jelani countered, and some council members stood in outrage.

Luther held his ancient hand up, pacifying them. "Jelani." He stood, looking down at the man from his throne. "I long for peace between us. Bring your own childe, Iset, to me in the festivities, and then we shall talk about a _compromise_."

Jelani studied him and cast a glance at the exotic and beautiful Iset, who sat nonchalantly at the end of the council seating. Iset was known for her incomparable beauty and her ferocious demon. Luther smirked and nodded.

"Are we in agreement?" Luther asked.

Jelani studied the man carefully, his jaw twitching and then finally nodded. "We are in agreement."

Jelani jumped down the two stories to the arena floor. The crowd went wild and he basked in it. Luther shifted, a bit peeved, and finally walked back to face the crowd.

"And now, for the one you've waiting for… The unbeatable, undeterred, unmerciful, valiant and deceitful villainous Prince of the _world –"_

The crowd became madness itself, crying for him before his name was even said.

"MACK! MACK! MACK! MACK!"

"Your three-time reigning champion… MACK PENDRAGON!" Luther laughed, tossing his head back as the entire arena stood, chanting for Mack and roaring with excitement.

"MACK! MACK! MACK! MACK!"

And finally, from out the doors out the arena, came twin blonde vampires girls, dressed in heart-stopping gowns. Between them was Mack, dressed in the sharpest of suits with a contrasting tie. The audience ate it up as he sauntered in, relaxed and blasé, and raised his right hand to greet them. He looked the least ominous of them all, and Luther smirked. Just like he had taught him.

Mack stared up at the hundreds that cheered for him. These were royalty and leaders of their own people, all wanting him and only him. Tasha and Theresa came to him; one took his jacket off and the other his tie. They pressed themselves on him as he ignored them and smirked at his audience.

"A little overdressed, Pendragon?" Jelani asked, walking to the Prince. Mack chuckled, smirking at the man.

"This is a game of wits, Jelani, not a kindergarten class. I didn't realize there was finger painting prior to the games," Mack said derisively, barely glancing at the man's Tribal colors.

Jelani's face morphed into anger. "Luther has all but agreed on the union with Iset. You'd do well to respect me and mine."

Mack glanced at Jelani, and then turned his eyes to Luther, who nodded down at him in approval. He sought Iset in the crowd, who looked down at him with green eyes.

"I have no want for a union, Jelani, regardless of how lovely your Iset is," Mack replied, un-cuffing his shirt and handing his cufflinks to Theresa.

"You'll have no choice, I'll see to that," Jelani snapped. "_Especially_ when I win this championship."

Mack smirked at him, rolling up his sleeves. "Ahhh, the dreams of the young. By the way… I've already tasted your Iset. She's just… not my type."

Jelani roared and went to attack Mack, his teeth bared, but Luther, anticipating the spat between the two had waiting guards to quickly shield Mack from the attack, leaving the protected man to smirk at the Chief.

"Leave it for the arena!" One of the guards shouted to Jelani, who spit on the floor and walked away. Mack chuckled, tossing a look to a concerned Iset and then chuckling to himself.

Luther raised a brow, studying the pretty Egyptian Princess before smirking down at Mack.

"May the best vampire win!" Luther finally cried, and the crowd happily conceded.

The audience watched on the edge of their seat They got their patient reward when, a few hours later, the last two that was left was Mack Pendragon and Jelani – just as predicted.

The rules of the Arena were that there were no rules. If a vampire, say, died during it, then it was a "sad" thing. But this only meant that many were willing to play dirty. None more than Jelani, who wanted something more than the Arena had to offer.

By the time Jelani and Mack faced one another, Mack had very little of the clothing he had begun with. Actually, he only had his pants left, and they were tattered. He was bloodied, but this only made him more turned on in the fight. A good fight with a worthy opponent always got a vampire going, and Mack was no different. Jelani was certainly a worthy opponent. Mack cracked his neck, staring down Jelani as the man threw his weapons away. He was going to beat him fair and square. The crowd kept chanting the Prince's name over and over.

"MACK! MACK! MACK!"

"I hate to disappoint them and let them see their champion for what he really is," Jelani jeered as he stood before Mack proudly, a few heads taller than the Prince. "A milk-fed pup that hides behind his sire's skirts."

Mack's face transformed and, on instinct, he charged towards the taller vampire, grabbing him by the waist and pushing him up against the cement arena wall. Jelani groaned, baring his fangs and attempting to bite Mack, but Mack lifted him up in the air and slammed him down on the floor before he could. A bone-crunching, sickening sound was heard and Iset yelled "No!" loudly, distracting Mack for a moment as he studied her reaction. Enough to have Jelani take advantage of the situation and sink his fangs into Mack's calf. Mack roared and grabbed the man's head, yanking it up and kneeing him full in the face.

Mack then limped to Jelani and punched him repeatedly until the other man fell backwards, but not without sending his own powerful kick to Mack, making him fly clear across the arena floor. He landed face-first on the cement floor. He groaned and pushed himself up, spitting out the blood from his mouth. He flipped himself up and crouched on all fours, baring fangs to Jelani in an animalistic fighting stance. He felt his eyes and forehead ridge, something that only happened when a vampire was truly out for blood against a worthy opponent.

The crowd went wild for this and continued chanting the Prince's name. Jelani faced him in the similar fashion, hissing at Mack as they studied one another.

Jelani charged first, and Mack held his ground until it seemed that the other man would kill him. Then he rolled on the floor, flying a few feet in the air and missing Jelani's attack by an inch. Jelani turned to attack him once more, but Mack was too quick. He pounced on the man's back, his nails burying themselves into Jelani's face and his mouth coming down startlingly fast on the man's jugular as a sign of dominance. The blood from the Chief's neck gushed out, and Mack slurped it up, stunning the audience as they roared. It was clear who the winner was when one man's fangs were in the other man's neck.

"No, Mack!" Iset cried, landing on the arena floor without permission and sending the guards after her. Mack noticed her amidst his euphoria at such an opponent's blood. He slowly retracted his fangs and nails from Jelani, letting the man land on the floor face-first. His entire upper body was bloody as he took deep breaths. The blood from his feed gushed out of his mouth as he held his hands up, facing his audience and making them adore him even more.

Mack motioned to the guards who held Iset. "Let her be," he ordered them, and the female vampire dashed to her sire's side, holding the beaten vampire in her arms.

Luther watched the exchange with interest, though he stood and clapped with the rest of them.

"Come to me, childe," he ordered Mack and, through the roaring noise in the arena, the younger vampire heard his sire's call. He quickly flew up the floors to meet his maker, landing before him and kneeling as a sigh of respect.

Luther looked down at the bent head and motioned for silence in the arena. "We have… a champion!"

The audience cheered, chanting Mack's name once more. Luther bent down and made Mack stand. "Dirty play. I like it."

Mack smirked at his sire.

Luther turned to the crowd. "Let the celebration begin!"

* * *

The truth was that Mack was _bored_. Bored, bored, bored. Every decade was the same old thing, time after time, over and over. The entire illusion of being a ruler had quickly faded, and the only thing he used to look forward to was now beginning to irritate him. He looked forward to the Arena, but now it was his 4th win. That was hardly a challenge.

Every vampire, both male and female, wanted him and they threw themselves at him without his asking.

Sex, though delicious, was hardly an adventure. He'd seen every country he wanted to see, tasted all sorts of humans and none intrigued him, none sparked his imagination. He had come to the conclusion that he had simply fallen into the vampiric coma. There was no other explanation. Mack, who had never brooded, who had been the life of the party and who loved feeding on stoned teenagers, had absolutely nothing to look forward to.

Mack had always thought very little of Jelani: a man who spoke too much and was blatant with his plans. There was no sort of finesse to his tactics, and Mack found them honestly offensive. Jelani was a warrior and never a diplomat, much less a ruler. Yet Jelani had something that today Mack realized he wanted. It was the strangest thing he had witnessed in his long life; it was how much Iset loved Jelani. He heard her himself as she let Jelani feed on her to help his wounds so selflessly.

Such thoughts were forbidden by Luther himself. Vampires where not supposed to love. According to Luther, they were _incapable_ of love. But what Mack had seen that evening _was_ love. Iset loved her maker like a woman loves her man. Not as a father or a brother, or even the way Mack regarded Luther with awe and respect. It was love; her eyes softened and sparkled, and she was distraught at the prospect of Mack killing Jelani. Why was Jelani willing to give her up? Mack knew that also very well. He planned on Iset controlling Mack as his Queen. Mack knew little of love, but he didn't understand how a man could love a woman so much and still use her in such a way? How could he sell her out, and how could she do it willingly? For love? Was love so very abominable? Perhaps Luther _was_ right. Vampires couldn't love.

These were the last thoughts that he wanted to have as his own victory party carried on around him. He was spread out lazily on pillows with a few girls pawing at him. This also bored him. He was fed and content, and he glanced every once in a while at Luther, who continued quiet talks with the council.

"Would you like to retire, my Prince? We can join you," one of the girls asked him, and he dismissed her with his hand, making her pout prettily.

Perhaps a trip abroad would do him good? He sighed, taking a drink of his wine. If he were honest with himself, he was _sulking_ because he was _jealous_. Of _Jelani_, of all vampires. He scoffed. Without thinking, his thoughts drifted to the woman in his dreams. The perfect brunette. He longed for sleep to come to see if he would meet her once more. You knew your life sucked when dreams were better than reality, and his reality currently consisted of watching the twins make out and fondle each other's breasts. He rolled his eyes at their blatant cry for attention.

He turned his head, ignoring the hundreds of vampires staring at him, and that was when something caught his eye. He paused and focused on the distant pillars that led to the rooms. His mind stopped short, and he was pretty sure he was hallucinating. He gulped and stood, making a few girls protest as they were shoved off him. He was focused on one thing and one thing only. On the brunette that walked towards the rooms. He walked clear across the party without pausing to pay respect to any of the many who desperately wanted their minute with the Prince. He couldn't lose sight of her. It was impossible that she was the one from his dreams, but he _had_ to be sure. He'd only but glanced at her face, yet he was addicted to seeing more.

He left the party and stared at the corridor he knew well. That's when he smelled it. Really _smelled_ it. A scent that was so… familiar yet new at the same time. He followed it, believing that it would take him to her. He walked down a few hallways until he felt he had lost her. Frustrated, he scanned the area angrily. How could he have lost her? He was a master tracker; he had yet to lose someone whom he intended to follow. But then he saw her, just a glimpse as she walked across the hallway and entered a room. His senses on alert, he followed quickly, like a moth to the flame.

He stood before the door of the room she had entered and carefully pushed it open. It was one of the many guest rooms with a lit fireplace that cast a soft glow in the room. That was when he spotted her, standing before the window that revealed the night and its full moon. She wore a long, backless silk black gown. Her hair was sporting soft curls, and he saw the twinkle of an overly valuable diamond bracelet.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice echoing in the room. He ached to see her, and she responded by slowly turning and facing him. Even in the darkest of nights, he would've recognized that face.

He gasped softly. There she was. The woman in the photograph. The woman from his dreams. The woman _of_ his dreams. It was impossible. She wasn't real… This wasn't real.

She walked closer, and he had to fight to urge to grab her and take her. The closer she walked, the better he could see her face.

"I'm surprised at you, Bass. I thought you knew me better than that." She smirked at him and cocked her head.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: I know, you're thinking "wtf!!??" All I ask is that you let me unfold this story. ;) Also, some questions I've had. I chose the name Mack because it 1. Sounded really good 'chanted'. 2. It means 'son' and I can see Luther being a name-nerd like that and having had chosen that name for whatever childe would eventually become his. Other questions; it's been a total of 500 years since Chuck has been turned and I dont know how many chapters this story will be I just know it'll be relatively long.


	5. Chapter 5

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I own my car, my purse collection and my freedom of speech. I don't, however, own Gossip Girl. I'm working on getting the rights, though ;)

Rating: Oh, it's going to be M. ;)

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: I apologize if you get confused in these next few chapters, but Chuck will be referred to as 'Mack' since he doesn't recall his identity and his life. Until he realizes he's Chuck Bass, he will be 'Mack Pendragon'. Also, a special thanks to my beta, Tatiana. She is the coolest, sexiest Gossip Girl fan ever, or so she says.

* * *

_"The world changes, we do not, therein lies the irony that kills us."  
Anne Rice_

"I'm surprised at you, Bass. I thought you knew me better than that." She smirked at him and cocked her head.

He felt an odd sensation in his stomach at the sight of her, at the sound of her, at the prospect of touching her. "I asked, didn't I?" He retorted, studying the way her dress plunged down to the middle of her flat stomach. It made his mouth water, that's what it did.

She smiled and circled him. In five hundred years, Mack had rarely felt like prey himself, and this just happened to be one of those moments. If it were anyone else he would've already bared fangs and established hierarchy, but there was something absolutely fabulous about the pure creature before him. He reached out his senses to hear a heartbeat and found none. Yet… she wasn't a vampire, either. What was she? Would believing she was a goddess sound too overly human and sentimental? Probably.

"I know you," he said reverently.

"You do. Better than most, I dare to say." Her voice was melodic and enchanting, absolutely drawing him toward her. She was a land-siren.

"Name," he demanded.

"He must've really done a nice job on you," she commented, smiling mischievously at him.

He let his fangs elongate. He might want to fuck her, but he wasn't willing to have her fuck him over.

She chuckled at his alpha male display. "Short tempered. This is why I stay away from vampires. Even one as hot as you, Bass."

"Stop calling me that," he replied with disgust, beginning to circle her. Her scent was driving him insane; he needed to move, to run, as far as he could.

"It's your name. How else shall I call you?" she shot back.

"Pendragon. This is common knowledge," he snapped.

"Oh, yes… that's your _vampire_ name," she acquiesced, looking him up and down as she spoke. "But there's still a man in there. Well hidden, yes, but he's still in there."

He roared at this, establishing his annoyance at her words. She stood her ground, unimpressed with his anger and short temper.

"Explain yourself now, or I will drag you before the council," he threatened.

"Have Daddy Dearest do the deed?" She cocked her head again, exposing her fine neck. Unadulterated for his viewing.

He grabbed her roughly by the waist and pulled her flush against him, pressing his hardening cock against her stomach. She didn't touch him, her body nearly limp against his.

"I fight my own battles," he growled, sure of his statement and even more sure of his overwhelming desire for her pale flesh.

"Do you?" She asked, her face coming closer to his. "Would you invite him to our bed?"

He growled, pressing his arms firmer around her waist, his nostrils inhaling her blatantly and unabashedly, his fingers enjoying the silky feel of her dress over her skin.

"What do they call you?" He demanded once more, and her eyes fluttered, pretty brown eyes that haunted his dreams.

"Blair," she replied, and her words made sense to him. _Of course_ her name was Blair. No other name fit her. "Blair Bass."

And then he paused, taking in her words and the slow-forming smirk on her face.

"You called _me_ 'Bass'," he said, staring deeply into her. "What trick is this?"

"No trick, Bass," she insisted, then placed her hand on his clothed chest, running it up to where the collar of his shirt ended, rubbing him over the soft material.

"Do not mock me," he said, yet his voice was weak. The more he held her in his arms, the more he wanted to rip that flimsy dress off her body and have his way with her.

"I am not…" she trailed off. "You are… my _husband_."

In reality, what he wanted to do was shove her away, push her on the floor and bite her until she stopped such lies and respect who and what he was. But his body reacted quite differently. As fast as that particular thought was dismissed, he sunk his hands into her soft curls and kissed her. Something that apparently he'd been thinking about doing since the moment he saw her from corner of his eye.

The aphrodisiac of her lips was soon replaced with a scorching flame that traveled from his hands, which were massaging her scalp to his lips and tongue, which were violently and passionately invading her mouth. Her own hands grabbed his head, keeping him there, and the place where her hands connected made his head explode in blinding pain.

He yelled, his voice muffled into her mouth. Summoning his vampire strength, he yanked himself away from her, pushing her off and making her land on the floor. He fell to his knees, crying out at the pain in his hands, head and mouth.

"WITCH!" He screamed, watching as she laughed manically on the floor. He stared down at his hands, which were blistering and burning so badly he wanted to chop them off. He continued screaming, watching as he slowly but surely healed. "FUCKING WITCH!"

"Don't be so fast to damn me." She was casually sitting on the bed, inspecting her nails with her legs properly crossed. "It hurts me just as much, you know. I just don't get pink and pretty like you do."

He continued taking gasping breaths and finally stood, glaring at her. "Show yourself!" He commanded.

She stared at him, unperturbed. "How do you know this is not my visage?"

He growled, stalking to her. "Show yourself, witch!"

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the fire and, before his eyes, the visage of the beautiful woman melted into one of a haggard woman with a disfigured face and hunched back.

His eyes narrowed and his thoughts ran wild. "I take no warnings, witch. You've sought the wrong Pendragon."

"Oh, I sought the right one, child," she declared, limping to him.

"Name," he demanded.

"I have none," she countered.

"Liar," he cried. "I'll have you _beaten_ from this land."

"How so? Will you have one of your corrupt human pets touch me?" She taunted.

"We have ways of dealing with such things," he replied.

"So quick to have me go when just moments ago you were much too willing to take a woman you didn't know," she smiled, baring her toothless mouth.

He glared at her, flexing his still-sore hands.

"You knew I wasn't human. You knew I wasn't vampire, yet you still wanted the lovely Blair all too much," she laughed.

He turned sharply, intent on leaving the room and informing Luther of the presence in their home.

"She haunts you, young Pendragon," the witch whispered, and this made him pause, his jaw clenching. "Oh, yes, she does… haunts your dreams."

He looked straight in front at the door that led to his freedom. Yet his feet didn't move.

"You _want_ her more than you've ever wanted anything else," the witch continued, coming closer. "I can tell you. I can tell you all about her. Where she is and how _you_… how you can have her."

"A witch's words always have a price," he quoted wisely. "I make no pacts with your kind."

"Vampires and witches, natural enemies… but still… soon you will be King. Don't you want to know all the _lies_ that Luther has constructed? Unmask his iron curtain?" She taunted. "See the world for what it really is?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, witch," he snapped. "Leave. Leave my lands, I curse you."

She rolled her eyes. "The cursed can't curse, young Pendragon. Know your fables. And besides… you and I are _old_ friends."

"I have no parts with you," he insisted.

"Oh, but you do… you do…" She circled him. "_Think_… remember… try to see behind that curtain Luther has placed over your mind."

"Be quiet –"

"I was there the night you were found, _Chuck Bass_," she drawled, smiling slowly as his eyes recognized the name. "Yes… I saw you human. _Touched_ you human. I was there when Luther turned you."

The curiosity of it all was so great that he _nearly_ begged her to tell him. Nearly. "Luther has told me everything he knows. I have no need for your twisted tales."

"Oh…" she chuckled. "He has, has he?"

"Yes," he insisted.

"Young Pendragon… when you're ready to hear the truth…" She melted into the visage of Blair Bass before she finished speaking. "About your life and about _her_… you'll come find me. Until then… enjoy living your lie." She reached into her robes and slowly pulled out two papers. She handed them to him and he took them doubtfully.

And she disappeared right before his eyes. He took a slow swallow and shook himself from his trance. He turned the papers in his hands and gasped at finding pictures. He gasped audibly at finding none other than a baby, a young baby boy in one photo, and in the other… in the other, he saw _himself_ and Blair Bass. They were… human. _He _was human. He touched their faces slowly. "Blair…" he whispered. She looked absolutely content with life, and he looked… _in love_.

* * *

He had this horrible feeling in his stomach. This horrible premonition that things had now been set into motion, things that would change his life as he knew it. Things that could not be undone. And quite honestly, he didn't know how he felt about that. How does one walk away from newly revealed knowledge? How does one ignore it? How _could_ he, especially now that he did nothing but stare at the pictures of his supposed wife and what he could only assume was his child. _Their_ child.

These thoughts were pointless, he told himself angrily. It didn't matter that he had once had them. The truth was that he had died five hundred years before, and now they were gone. Buried. Dead. Done. She'd probably found another husband, a father for her young child. She had probably forgotten him. What marriage lasted these days, anyway? He refused to believe that what they had was so special to begin with. At the same time he began cursing his dreams and his fixation with her and their life.

He waited, waited until he knew Luther had had his own pleasures that night, and finally went out to seek his maker.

Luther's room was foreign and prestigious. Mack himself had only resided in its warmth during his early years as a fledging under Luther's constant surveillance. Now, a full-grown vampire and a leader, he wasn't particularly welcomed in his maker's domain. He hadn't been verbally barred, but it was an understanding that all vampires were aware of. Luther took his humans of preference or servants, and they were not seen for months, until one day they would either turn up dead or as vampires. Luther was the maker of many, but he was only father to Mack, whom he had claimed his childe. This thought assured Mack that his questions would be welcomed.

He knocked on Luther's door and, after some time and scuffling, it was finally opened to reveal a naked teen boy. His neck was bruised and sported various bites; he also had bites around his groin. Mack tried his best not to grimace. He looked downright abused. Mack was never attracted to the weak. He would always go for the prime of the pack rather than the submissive one. It was far too fun to tame them.

It was no secret that Luther had a predilection for underage human males the same way that Mack had deep desires for beautiful women in their 20s. Especially those with a sharp tongue and well-shaped asses.

"My Prince," the teen greeted, nodding his head and moving to let Mack in. Mack ignored him and the way his stomach usually turned at his maker's tastes. "He lies," The boy informed him, and Mack walked to the bed to find Luther in his robe, lounging in the middle of his gothic bed.

Luther had a love for all things medieval; the entire wing looked to not have aged past the year 1200. With thick tapestries, rich carpets and mood-setting candles, it was no wonder Luther often had trouble understanding modern technology and the way vampires had to adjust to the human's influencing intelligence. It was one of the reasons many of the tribes were looking to bring Luther down from his 1600-year reign. The vampires were living in the dark ages as long as Luther was in charge.

"Sire," Mack greeted, bowing before him.

Luther chuckled as he motioned for the boy to leave them.

"How long has it been since you've had the audacity to come seek me out in my domain?" Luther inquired, watching as Mack rose to meet his eyes.

"Forgive me –"

"You disappeared from the festivities. Were the bitches not to your liking?" He asked, picking at his nails. "We can get you new toys if the old ones no longer amuse you."

Mack's jaw twitched. He knew Luther meant the women that he was often draped with. However, his thoughts, his entire mind, was drowning and swimming in Blair Bass's visage and the thought of her being called a 'bitch' in this manner bothered him for some unexplained reason.

"I seek council, my lord," Mack explained, tightening his jaw.

"Oh?" Luther rose like the king he was, gliding over the carpeted floor and towards the fine wines he had collected through his long and many years. "You need not trouble yourself. I won't make you take Iset. She's far too fixated on her own maker and had a bad case gingivitis, do we agree? Young people dont floss nearly enough these day."

Mack attempted not to roll his eyes at the stupid Iset, whose juices had tasted of bad wine and cheap brie.

"Agreed. But that is not why I seek your council," Mack attempted, moving forward and taking the wine Luther offered him.

Luther studied him, watching as he drank deeply from the wine. "Humm… I'm intrigued, childe."

Mack waited until Luther sat himself comfortably before his roaring fire, toasting his icy skin.

"Sire…" Mack began, nervously licking his lips. "… How much do you remember of my… _human_ life?"

Luther paused, his goblet halfway to his mouth, his eyes dark and ominous. "Your _human_ life?"

Mack nodded, unable to meet his sire's eyes.

"And what life is that?" Luther snapped. "Humans are weak. Their lives come and go before they're even able to realize what their purpose is."

Mack's jaw twitched, and he looked away. He _knew_ this was a bad idea, but he still went to Luther despite his better judgment. "You're right, of course, I apologize for asking."

Luther sighed heavily, drinking his wine. "What has your mind turning, childe?"

Mack considered his words. And that in itself was a new development. Up until that very moment Mack had held no thought back (with the exception of the dreams) from Luther. Luther knew all his thoughts, his actions and his motivations. He had never dared to keep anything from his maker. But _something_ – something deep inside of him, which he didn't realize he possessed – told him to hold back his tongue.

"I simply wondered," Mack replied.

Luther rose, his robe elegant and sculpted around him. He placed one hand on each of Mack's shoulders and looked into his childe's eyes. "Have I not given you everything? Have I not made you king?"

Mack stared back at Luther, unresponsive.

"Are you not as grand as any creature in this world? Are you not revered? Do they not adore you?" Luther lulled. "Do you not have each and every woman that your loins so wish?"

_No_.

"I've made you a _legend_ amongst vampires," Luther continued, touching his childe's face. "When I found you, you were _weak_ and _dying_."

Mack had images of himself bloodied and on the verge of death, the same way he had seen many. Never had he put his face to that body.

"I gave you life. I gave you _eternal_ life," Luther touched Mack's throat. "So I ask you again… What life can a human one be? They have _nothing_ that you have. They _long_ for it. They long for our eternal beauty. For our endless nights."

"Love," Mack whispered, and it was as if his tongue knew no liege. Knew no better. The word, _the_ word came forth, bursting forth from what he felt.

Luther gasped, pulling away from Mack as if his own child had thrown holy water on him.

"_Love_," Luther spat, disgusted by the mere mention of the word. "Do I not give you that, too?" The elder shouted, his eyes morphing and his fangs extending, making Mack back away and want to cower in a corner. "Have I not cared for you?"

"Yes!" Mack quickly said, in a near shout. "But that is not the love of which I speak of."

Luther studied him, studying his features. "_That_ love. That love of which humans are so fond of frolicking in… _That_ love makes them _weak._ Makes them the weakest. When they first discover it, they fear it. And when they accept it, it destroys them. Makes them do things, say things, behave in such ways that would make you _shudder…_"

Mack studied his maker and, for the first time, wondered if Luther himself had ever loved in his human life. He'd been told that _some_ vampires remember their humanity while others didn't. And now that he thought about it… Mack himself was the only vampire he knew who didn't recall his human life. What made him so special? What made him so dammed?

"Did you ever love?" Mack finally asked, and Luther's face morphed into anger.

"YES!" Luther shouted, his eyes yellow in anger. "And I found her fucking my _brother_ and having his child. It was quite a shock. I killed all _three_ of them. You should thank me for having saved you from such a thing."

Mack swallowed deeply, looking away. "Did I… _speak_ to you of anyone? Anyone I might've loved?"

Luther took a seat, but his eyes never left Mack's and they stared one another down.

"No. You spoke not a word," Luther replied, and Mack slowly nodded. He retreated and gave his sire apologies for such a night. As he retreated, the photos burned holes into his robes… Je realized that Luther was lying.

For the first time in five hundred years, he realized that his maker might've been lying to him all along. For what purpose? To what end? He did not know… but he had names, and he had a time. He was going to find out who exactly Chuck Bass was, and how he came to be the vampire now called Mack Pendragon. All this inner plotting, all this inner planning, felt _right_. Like he had finally pulled back a veil from his eyes and the real Mack, or Chuck Bass, was just waiting to be reborn.

* * *

To be continued

A/N: I hope you all are still intrigued with the angle taken in this story. I know many of you might want Chuck and Blair to be interacting already, but this is not the way I function, I take my time telling you the story, and I hope you all are willing to stick with the journey. Also, this is not going to be one of those stories where Chuck/Blair don't interact until the end. I promise LOADS of it. Many of you have asked how many chapters I am planning, and my response is that I don't know but this will be a long one. I have quite an ambitious plot planned out, and I want to make sure the pacing is not off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I dont own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"How pathetic it is to describe these things which can't truly be described."  
Anne Rice_

Mack had two choices here. Choice one: ignore this entire thing. Throw the photos in his hands to the fire and let what was left of his human life burn before his eyes. He could be the vampire he was meant to be, the king he was _going_ to be. He could be everything that Luther – the one person who had cared for him (in his albeit twisted way) – wanted, take the throne when Luther passed and reign for a thousand years.

The other option… was a bit more realistic. The fact was that _she_ still haunted his dreams, and he had no way of controlling that particularly and increasingly annoying fact. The fact that the witch had tricked him by showing him her fleshed-out visage was also not helping. The more he ignored it, the more he _longed_ to touch her. _Longed_ to have her, to bury his loins into her mound and sheath himself there in her human warmth. He glared at his bed, having already roared for his bitches to leave him and sighed annoyed with the fact that he couldn't sleep. Couldn't feed. He was just _covered_ in her. He took another look at the photo and sighed.

A plan was slowly formulating in his head, one that he had not intended to act on but which was becoming more and more interesting. He thought that, if perhaps he found out more information about his human life, then he would no longer be so fascinated by it. It was a simple, innocent act. One for which no one could blame him. He just wanted… _information_. And information, in Mack's experience, was power.

"_Portami il database_," he roared to one of his minions, who scurried away quickly in the hopes that his master might one day thank him. That day was not today. The database was a comprehensive human-made research archive that allowed a glance into the past based on what you looked for. When it was presented to him, Mack snatched it out of the minion's hands and growled at him. The minion, confused and horny, whimpered away, rubbing himself as he went.

There had been a huge data crash some 200 years before and much of the information and pictures from the past generations were lost forever. It was a sad thing, really. One that Mack _never_ thought would affect him. Goes to show.

He looked down at the keys doubtfully and typed "Charles Bass" into the search engine. He waited impatiently while it searched the millions of information sites and while it searched he dimly noted that he was in desperate need of a manicure, the arena was just hell on the cuticles.

Finally the words "Prince of Manhattan" came forth. He blinked, certain he had the wrong response.

"Computer, I asked for Charles Bass, _not_ Prince of Manhattan," he activated the voice response system. He felt the need to be snappy.

"Prince of Manhattan is a fictional novel based on actual accounts written by D. Humphrey, completed shortly before he died and published posthumously. It recounts the story of Charles Bass, son of Bart Bass and billionaire businessman. There are no other findings for Charles Bass."

Mack sighed, glaring at the screen.

"Show the novel," he said tiredly in a bored toned whisper.

"No known copies remain of the relatively unknown novel. All that is left are the scans of the front and back covers," the electronic voice explained.

"Show that then," he snapped, annoyed.

"Please hold…"

"Please hold," Mack imitated, grasping for his wine as he sipped it like an experienced _sommelier_.

"Accessing…" she replied.

"Come the fuck _on_," he growled.

"Prince of Manhattan, published 2023, New York. Author: Daniel Humphrey. Summary as follows: Charles Bass was born with every material possession a man could want. Except love."

Mack gulped, listening intently to the machine.

"Ignored by his father, he figured the best way to gain his attention was to do everything wrong. He lived his young life as such until his best friend's girlfriend, the one girl he respected, broke up with her childhood sweetheart and offered herself to Charles. Suddenly, Charles begins to learn the meaning of love, courage, all the good that life can bring and, most importantly, that some things are really worth fighting for."

Mack stared at the back cover, transfixed with the painting of a beautiful brunette dressed in her undergarments, standing before a young brunette boy with a champagne glass at hand.

"Anything else?" He asked, nearly begging.

"Negative. The novel sold less than five hundred copies and was out of print before the great crash. No known copies survive," the machine replied.

"How about in the archives of Rome?" He demanded. Now the wine tasted ashy.

The computer was suspiciously silent.

"Doll?" he asked, pouring himself some more wine. He figured the more he had the less he tasted.

"Over five million unidentified books reside in Rome. Funding for cataloging them has been non-existent. Would you like to donate to the cause?"

"Everybody is a comic," he muttered. "No. I'll go there myself."

"Will that be all?" The computer asked.

Mack thought for a minute, and then turned to the computer, who had been waiting patiently. "No… Check out 'Blair Bass'. Anything for her?"

The computer was silent before finally speaking up. "Prince of Manhattan appears, but also a small salvaged article."

"Read," he demanded.

"Blair Bass hosts displaced children charity gala. The young widow of the late Chuck Bass makes her first public appearance after the sudden and tragic death of her husband last November. The benefit aims to raise funds for orphan children in the city. The society darling stated, "This is a subject close to my heart, since my own husband was an orphan." Speculation still surrounds the deaths of the Basses, as it seems this is the second generation to perish in tragedy. Chuck Bass left behind a son, Brenton Bass, who is said to inherit an almost two billion dollar empire. The richest baby on the face of the earth."

"Wait. Rewind. You said you found nothing else for Chuck Bass," Mack snapped, annoyed.

"You requested 'Charles Bass' _not_ 'Chuck Bass'. You must be specific in order for the database to work properly," the machine countered evenly.

Chuck narrowed his eyes at the machine.

"Fine. Search 'Chuck Bass,'" he grunted. "Such _advance_ in technology."

"Searching," she replied as he paced back and forth in the room, wine in hand.

"Anything?" He begged.

"Affirmative," the machine finally answered. "Twelve articles under the finance sector of the New York Times magazine, and one under Forbes."

"Finance?" Mack asked, touching his chin and then throwing back what was left of his exquisite wine.

"Yes. Would you like me to summarize?" The machine asked.

"Go on," Mack encouraged.

"From data gathered Chuck Bass was an important financier in his short time at Bass Industries. At time of death, his empire was valued at over 4.4 billion dollars, twice what his father left. His first hotel, the Empire, was the birthplace of Empire Hotels: the largest hotel branch in the world. In 2041, Bass Industries purchased the Star Alliance and owned United Airlines, US Airlines and Continental airlines, along with a string of rental car companies and hotels. Would you like further information?" The computer asked.

"If he died, who did these purchases?" Mack inquired.

"His widow, Blair Bass, became the face of the company until her son, Brenton Bass, took over. Would you like further information?" It replied.

"Yes… Brenton Bass? Anything on him?" He asked.

"Searching…"

Mack sighed, sitting down and running his hands through his hair and then remembering that perhaps getting a haircut was a good idea. He would have to call his barber.

"Brenton Bass successfully ran Bass Industries until the age of 38. His mother took over the Industries once more until Brenton's son, Charles Bass, came of age. Brenton Bass lived a secluded life in the Hamptons until he died. He was said to have gone mad after a supposed hallucination of the father he never met."

Mack paused.

"Would you like further information?"

"He went… _mad_?" He asked, his brain turning. His _supposed_ human child had lost a nugget… and then he remembered. He gulped. The man he saved in the alley… all those years ago in Paris… he turned and faced his own painting. The one Luther had commissioned of him so long ago. _Brenton Bass_… he had _saved _him. Saved him only to damn him. He cursed loudly. Luther was right about this; vampires should never interfere with their human lives. This was perhaps why nature made fledglings so very incapable of intelligent thought. Because if they sought out their human life, disastrous things could and most likely would happen.

"Would you like further information?" The computer repeated.

Mack glared at it. His mind was working independently of what Luther had instilled in him so long ago. He needed information. He needed answers that the database obviously couldn't give. And the place where those answers could be found was in a little unknown, unloved novel by a poor nobody who may or may not be in the lost archives of Rome.

"No," he answered. Then he calmly used his intercom to call for this minions, who came scouring forth, breathing hard on the chance that perhaps – just _perhaps_ – their master would let them suck him off.

"_Sì, padrone_?" One minion bowed low on the floor.

"Pack my things," he pulled out his gold cuff links. "I'm going to Rome."

The minion whimpered.

* * *

Rome. He'd been there quite a few times and the last time had yielded not-so-advantageous results when he fed from the daughter of a prominent businessman and left the bitch in heat. He was discovered, and they had run him out of town in torches. He'd gotten quite a speech from Luther (which he ignored since Luther happily sneaked off and was gone for two years without word after the incident). But that had been nearly 100 years ago. It was a close call. But this time he had his stupid minions to supply him with blood, and he had a plan.

Benito Toselli, who had once been a particularly favorite pet of Luther's, ran the archive along with his father, Antonio. The moment Mack arrived in town, he sent word to Benito that he would like a private audience. The reply came swiftly and, before Mack knew it, his limo pulled up to the old build and out he stepped dressed in black from head to toe with a bright fuchsia tie and a black fedora. He strut down the street with Mariana carrying his briefcase close behind and unhappily whimpering about the lack of attention he was paying her. She didn't even respond to cupping his balls in the limo. He'd simply stared back at her impatiently and asked her if she was bored.

She knocked on the door for Mack as he dusted invisible lint from his shoulder and ignored her large pleading eyes. She was horny. He could smell her a mile away and she certainly didn't smell like flowers.

"Master…" she pleaded, but he sent her a very low and very serious warning growl. This shut her up, though she still huffed and puffed behind him. When the door was opened Mack was stunned to see such a grown-up Benito staring at him. When Benito had been Luther's, he was no more than 17 and had lived with him for a couple of years before Luther sent him off. Benito had been one of the lucky ones. The man who stood now before him was in his late 60s. His face was aged but good-natured.

"Well now you put me to shame," he chuckled, and Mack nodded. "You don't look a day over twenty five."

Mack smirked. "You were offered the same thing. I once thought we would be brothers."

Benito nodded. "You'll find that I have enjoyed _all_ of my life and not regretted my decisions at all." He opened the door and invited him in.

Mack nodded, then turned to look at the unhappy Mariana. "Stay, and not a bite for you," he warned her, and she stomped her foot angrily.

Benito shook his head as he closed the door behind the vampire. "So… Mack Pendragon. It's been a lifetime."

Mack took in the man's humble surroundings. Why the man would've chosen this life instead of the one Luther offered him was beyond his comprehension. What could this dingy, fast dissolving life offer him? He couldn't understand it. The entire lack of class he saw around him disgusted his very core.

"I know you may not think it much…" Benito began. "But I don't regret it. Not a single day."

Mack took a seat and stared patiently at Benito, but just then small footsteps came rushing forward. Much to Mack's surprise, a small little girl rushed inside the room and dashed into Benito's arms.

"_Nonno! Non voglio andare a dormire senza una favola, per favore!" _She begged her grandfather for a bedtime story.

Benito rocked her slightly, kissing her blonde little head. Mack turned his face and looked away. He felt uncomfortable with too much emotion from these humans. He had never understood why.

"_No, Angelica, devi dormire. Il nonno ha un ospite importante." _He hushed the child and told her he couldn't because he had company.

Angelica turned her head and studied Mack, perplexed. "_He has no shadow_." The child noted the lack of Mack's shadow against the roaring fire in an eerie tone.

Mack turned his blazing eyes and he took in the child. Her purity was too much for a creature like him, and he recoiled like a spring. "_Per spaventare piccole bambine curiose." _He stated in his perfect Italian, not blinking and looking her straight in the eye._  
_

Angelica screamed and scrambled from her grandfather, running up the stairs and calling for her grandmother's warm comfort. Benito studied him, taking a coffee cup from his table and drinking from it.

"Was that necessary?" He asked Mack.

"I didn't come here to meet your family. I came for the archive, and this waste has me bored and annoyed. _Feelings _I am unaccustomed to." Mack snapped quietly, the surroundings casting shadows on his cheekbones.

"You want the archive," Benito nodded.

Mack mirrored his move. "If I find what I'm looking for… I'm willing to make a reasonable donation to your pathetic and pedestrian cause. That should make us even."

Benito chuckled. "Same old Mack."

Mack stood, regal and imposing. "Do we have an agreement?"

Benito studied the vampire, unperturbed by his ominous behavior. "We have an agreement."

* * *

"Prince of Manhattan?" Benito repeated again for the seventh time as he ran his finger over the hand-written indexes he had been developing all of his life.

Mack nodded, pacing back and forth over the hundreds of books before him. These were ones published in New York in the year 2020 alone.

"D. Humphrey." Mack repeated. His coat was now off and the sleeves to his black shirt were rolled. His hair was frazzled in annoyance. He didn't even pause to consider the driving force behind his endeavor. He was usually polished and poised, cool and aloof. A distant statue. A distant Prince. Yet all he knew was that he needed to find this novel. He _wanted_ to know the truth that Luther had so carefully veiled.

"Nothing, _merda_."

Mack growled. "I've been to whore houses more organized than this."

"What do you expect? The world doesn't care about this forgotten corner," Benito snapped. "It brings them no _pleasure_."

"_Vampiro_!" A voice shouted, and both Mack and Benito turned to stare at the very elderly man that had his finger pointed at Mack, an angry scowl in his face.

"_VAMPIRO_!" The man cried, and Benito rushed forward.

"_No, padre, per favore stai zitto!_" Benito shushed his elder father.

"_VAMPIRO!_" The man ignored him, his finger still accusing Mack as he began to curse him. "_Io ti maledico!_"

Mack, plainly annoyed, rolled his eyes and then snapped. "_Zitto, vecchio!"_

"Papa, _per favore_, papa," Benito begged. "_Non intende far del male. E' un amico."_

His father turned and stared at his son, disbelieving that Mack meant no harm and that he was a friend. "_No, Benito_. _Non puoi lasciarci di nuovo, no!_" His father begged him not to leave his family again, sobbing as Benito pulled his father against his chest and rocked him.

"_Non me ne vado, papà, non me ne vado._" Benito assured him he was not leaving, and Mack watched with keen and morbid fascination as the scene unfolded before him. His eyes darkened and he slinked back in the shadows and watched the spectacle. He sometimes wondered if he had ever had a father. A _real_ father. Did his father miss him when he was gone? He wished he remembered his face. Was it a kind face? A harsh face? Was the book accurate in its depiction of his life? Had his father _ignored_ him the way Luther at times did when he got bored with his childe?

The man's sobs echoed into his heart, and it was the first time Mack realized he even _had_ a heart. There, in the hallow confines of his chest, was an organ that thought didn't beat. At times it _felt_ something. Without thinking, he placed his hand over where it was and wished for the first time in five hundred years that something analogous to drums could beat against the palm of his pale hand.

Mack caught Benito staring at him and quickly turned, annoyed at such blatantly contagious humanity. He _wasn't_ human. He didn't _wish_ to be human. May life save him from such a jejune experience.

Once Antonio had been calmed and reassured that Mack was not here to turn his son into a creature of the night, he began to look curiously over what the other two were researching.

"_No,no, ti stai sbagliando di grosso_!" The elder didn't fail to inform them that they had no idea what they were doing. "Move! I'll do it!" He pushed Benito out of the way and began searching anew.

"Papa, no," Benito sighed and turned to Mack. "He's searching it all backwards."

Mack sighed, his continued annoyance becoming a permanent fixture in his face. He felt the need for good scotch.

Whoa.

He paused. Where had _that_ come from? He'd never drank scotch. He'd only drank wine. It was absolutely insane that he would yearn for Scottish stained water. He sighed, annoyance didn't begin to cover his emotions. He felt sunrise coming sooner rather than later. The humans were tired, the old man was meddlesome, and Mack was becoming more and more hungry. Good thing he brought Mariana.

"I know what I do!" Antonio finally snapped. "Archive missing pages, this all wrong, wrong, wrong."

This finally peaked Mack's interest as he loomed over the old man's shoulder.

"Humphrey… Humphrey… it listed under _Daniel_ H. This all wrong," he grunted.

"Papa, how do you know this?" Benito asked him.

"_Perchè lo so!_" Antonio informed him, bristling and pulling an old and large book filled with dust from under the desk. "Aha!"

Benito and Mack crowded around Antonio as the man pointed a wrinkled finger at the page before him, his glasses nearly tipping off his nose.

"Prince of Manhattan!" Antonio cried. "Aisle 25. Row 1. _Merda_." He looked up at his son. "Too high to reach. We have no ladder."

"Where is it, old man?" Mack demanded the location of the book.

"This way," Benito showed him to the very end of the large expanse. Mack followed him to the corner of the room as Benito pointed to the very top shelf. It was easily twenty feet high, which was an impossible feat for a mere human. But Mack wasn't a mere human, so he sighed and easily his feet dispatched themselves from the ground.

He levitated until he reached the top as Antonio stared on from down below with mouth agape.

"Where?" Mack demanded as he scanned the ancient books before him, not knowing where to look.

"No order, you'll have to search book by book…" Benito said loudly.

Mack groaned and then moved to the beginning. _A Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing, He's Just Not That Into You, Maybe She Tastes Like Molasses… _not likely?_ Mr. Darcy Gets a Wife, Blue Moon – Hot Blood, The Vampire Queen… _doubtful_. Fried Green Tomatoes, Elsa, The Intern… _interesting_. Global Warming: The Beginning of the End, Richard the Lionhearted Bastard, The Prince and the Concubine… The Prince of Manhattan!_

He stared at the spine, which was badly deteriorated, and then he reached nimble fingers to grasp the volume and looked down at it.

"Found it?" Benito asked from below.

"Yes." Mack murmured.

"_Ti ho detto che sapevo dove fosse_," Antonio didn't fail to point out that father knew best.

The cover was unimpressive. It was merely a bland blue tome with the New York City skyline, with a title in silver letters. The author's name was larger than the title. Self-important much? He turned the page and smiled slightly as he saw the same back cover the database had shown him.

"Got you," he whispered, and slowly a smirk formed in his face.

* * *

He would've liked to have gone directly to his hotel with its dark curtains and willing bitch, to pour over the book in his hands like a human on a rainy afternoon. But he needed to feed and then needed to sleep, for the sun was fast at his heels. So the adventure of undertaking his thirst for knowledge would have to be postponed until tomorrow. Mack took what he needed from Mariana, ignored her cries of protest when he didn't return the favor, and closed her out of his sleeping area. She whimpered by the door for a while, and then finally left to feed on someone less favorable.

Mack lay back in his requested silken sheets as his fine robe flowed around him. He took some fine wine (blatantly ignoring his sudden thirst for Scotch), intent on reading at least a bit.

"_He was born into tragedy and his father made sure he knew this early on in Charles' life."_

Ahhh, first time writers. Passionately in love with all that was tragically melancholic. And because the sun decided to rise at the moment, the sleep that was eminent to come came and Mack, against his power, slowly felt his eyes drip low. His wine fell to the grand carpet and the book lay forgotten next to him.

* * *

Benito couldn't believe his night. It had been a long night filled with past wonders. Wonders he thought had been left behind in the pages of history books. The dawn was but an hour away, so he decided to simply sit in his kitchen with a nice cup of coffee and wait to greet the sun.

Truth be told, it's always darkest before dawn, and that was no exception today. The darkness seemed to consume his humble home, and he felt a murky chill go up and down his spine. That was when he knew. Such feelings could never be forgotten. Such feelings could not be hidden.

He stood and walked to the door, knowing full well what he would find there.

When he opened it, he saw the same beautiful creature that had enchanted him years and years ago.

"Hello, Luther," Benito greeted.

The vampire was cloaked in darkness, his skin shimmering and his eyes as pale and haunting as ever.

"The years have revealed your humanity," Luther commented, though it was hard to read the man's facial features. Vampires were magical in such ways, masters of deceit.

"I don't know where he is," Benito responded, keeping his feet firmly planted on the inside of the door.

"You knew I would come…" Luther nodded.

Benito studied the vampire. "You can't keep him blinded forever, Luther. One day the real man under the vampire is going to wake, and he's going to be an unstoppable force."

Luther bared his fangs and such power emanated from him that Benito stumbled back. "_I_ am his master."

Benito still stood his ground, content in the knowledge that Luther had no influence over his domain. "Sometimes children wake up, they wake up and they realize their parents are even more fucked up than they are."

Luther covered himself well with his cape. "Not _my_ childe." And with that, he turned to disappear into the night.

"Luther?" Benito said after him. Luther paused, not bothering to even turn back and look at his once favorite pet. "He's already begun."

* * *

To be continued

a/n: Thank you for the reviews :) The new chapter should be up either Fri or Sat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I dont own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"None of us really changes over time. We only become more fully what we are."  
Anne Rice_

When the sun sets and the vampires come to life once more, the humans are inexplicably driven into their homes. Those who are young and foolish are lulled by the night air and the prospect of a good time. In Rome, this meant hordes of tourists in the shape of vacationing college students. When Mack woke, he found a naked Mariana already ready and willing for his pleasure. He had barely glanced at her, then instructed her to find him a meal from among the happy tourists below.

"_But, Sire…"_

"_You are a mere moment away from being replaced with something leggy and blonde, and possibly Russian,"_ _he growled, holding the book possessively in his hands, clutching it to his chest._

What did he have to do to get a moment's peace? Her ridiculous behavior was rattling his nerves, and he was two whimpers away from tearing her pretty little head off her knockout body (after a satisfying fuck, that is). The moment she shut the door behind her, he quickly opened the book. She was so unfocused that it would take her a few hours to find a victim, so this gave him plenty of time to read about his supposed life.

Halfway through chapter two, he found it hard to continue. The writing was appallingly embryonic and in bad need of an editor. He blamed it on all his years reading Dante and Donne, both of whom had tainted him and made him easily susceptible to mediocre prose. No wonder this little novel didn't make it anywhere. It was downright vexing that he would be commemorated in such an insulting way. Nevertheless, he carried on and soon he was engrossed in the little story of Charles Bass. It wasn't until the character of Blair Waldorf took center stage in the man's life that it really captured his attention, though.

The manner in which she spoke, her quips and her words, were enticing and at the very least hypnotic.

He could nearly see her, sharp little skirt, supercilious heels with an astute eye and plump lips he could envision surrounding his cock… His thoughts went south. He turned over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wondered what they talked about. Things they whispered in the dark night. What naughty words left her pristine mouth? Did she leave imprints of her nails when she raked them down his back? Did he spank her for pleasure? Did he ever lick her from her ankle to her cunt? Did she squirm as he did it?

He was _hard_. Harder then he'd been in a long, long time. All his blood shot to his dick, and he watched as it tented in his pants and as a satisfying hiss of pleasure and pain left his lips.

His eyes glazed over, and he heard someone enter the room. His head popped up to find _her_ standing before him. She was clad in nothing but a skin-toned bra and thong, and he swore loudly at the vision she provided.

"I wore your favorite, Bass," she purred as she walked closer to the bed, and he sped up the process by slowly unzipping himself. Through his silk boxers the tent became more prominent. "Do you want me to suck you?"

He bit his lip and let his cock pop free from its confines. "Come fuck me, baby."

She smirked, all traces of lady-like behavior gone as she transformed herself to a sexy vixen.

"But let me drink you first," she whispered, and he suddenly blinked, confused. This was _not_ how his dreams usually went. _She_ was never a vampire.

"Blair?" He asked, gasping.

"Who's Blair?" She demanded, and he shook his head, confused by this shit. The image of Mariana instantly replaced that of Blair Bass, and he let out a frustrated growl.

"_What_ are you doing?" He glared at her, noticing she was stark naked instead of tastefully seductive like Blair. But Mariana's eyes were glued to his cock, her fangs extended hungrily as she nearly lost herself in delirium.

"Let me, master… you _need_ me," she pleaded, coming forth.

Mack sighed. He nodded and let her do what she had desperately begged him for all day. He was nearly listless as she got to work.

New rules: One, no thinking about Blair before having fed or before dawn. Two, no believing stupidly formatted romance novels. Three, find this fucking Blair before she killed him and all that he had grown to be.

* * *

Mariana pranced around the room like a happy butterfly, her humming and happiness distracting him to the point that he could hardly enjoy the wine or finish a page in the book without wanting to strangle her.

"Mariana." He finally put down his book and stared at her with black eyes. "Find something useful to do with your life. A nice walk in daylight, perhaps? A lonely stroll through Sunday mass?"

Mariana sighed. "Yes… I saw a local college party. I think I might go."

"Yes, do that. Feed openly. Make sure they see you," he encouraged.

"But master, you said –"

"I obviously had blood poisoning. Ignore what I said before and do what I say now." He nodded, and she smiled happily, bouncing out of the room.

_Finally_.

Chapter 7.

_Thoughts of her consumed him, filled him with desire and battled with the morals he thought he would never have to question. She was the last girl he should want._

Mack scoffed. Seriously? A _straight_ guy wrote this?

Nevertheless, the story of Chuck and Blair was _magnetic_ to him. He _had _to know what happened. Before he knew it, he had finished the book, giving no thought to the rapidly passing hours, the coming and going of the night, and the serious lack of Mariana.

He stared at the open and finished book before him. Dropped it on the floor and kicked it with his leather shoe.

This was not him. _That_ was not him.

He was _not_ Chuck Bass.

This was a ploy. A joke. A badly played game of fate. Who pranced around like a mighty king, and then gave up the life of debauchery for the love of _one_ woman?

It was absolutely mortifying that he had acted in such a manner! No wonder he had probably wanted to become a vampire. He had been fine before her. Better than fine. No matter how much the narrative twisted the tale into some sort of romantic epic ball of fluff, the fact remained that Chuck Bass was a bad-ass motherfucker until _that girl_ entered the picture.

Suddenly he was starting to see similarities. His life was _fine,_ just fine, until _she_ started entering his dreams. Invading his thoughts, sucking the evilness right out of his loins. Well he wasn't going to put up with it.

Chuck Bass. Mack Pendragon. Whoever the hell he was would not be destroyed because of one _woman_.

His eyes narrowed, and he took the last bit of wine, throwing the glass angrily against the wall. Well, he was going to _fix_ this.

She thought she was smart. Thought she could reach him from the underworld and destroy him the way she destroyed Chuck Bass. He had news for her: he was a fucking Prince. He was a ruler of the world.

And Mack Pendragon didn't get neutered by a warm-blooded bitch.

There was only one solution to this problem. He had to find a way to end this. End it before it began.

He had to _kill_ Blair Bass before he ever met his son. Before his son was ever old enough to hear tales of his father. Hell, he would kill the _child_, too.

And in order to do this, he needed a certain witch with her own agenda. He quickly pulled out his communicator and dialed the front desk.

"I need transport," he explained.

"But sire, daylight is a mere hours away," the front desk attendant gasped.

"If I were to need your asinine opinion. I would ask for it." And then he hung up.

* * *

If Mack's memory served him, this night was a full moon, and full moons were magnets for witch activities. And no place attracted more witches on such a night as the ruins of Vatican City.

It would be a dangerous place for him to be. Witches _hated_ vampires and vice versa, but she wouldn't have invited him if she wasn't waiting for him. So he had to carry on. His escort reached the outskirts of the ruins mere minutes before sunrise, and his minions and servants rushed him inside what used to be the boudoir of a perished Italian noblewoman. It still smelled of perfume and lipstick.

Housing for vampires, most especially around the Vatican, had to be chosen with the utmost care. The previous inhabitants of such places were usually highly religious. The rich, ironically, had remained the religious ones while the masses had embraced atheism and ultimately had taken down the Vatican with their bare hands. The stench of sweat in the palm of their grubby hands still permeated the fine walls.

Once the room had been cleared of any religious artifacts, Mack finally settled down. His spirit was restless; he paced back and forth until the burning day lulled his senses to sleep.

He'd been to the Vatican _once_. Many an era ago. It was a place that Luther despised and had talked badly about, so Mack had been generally uninterested in it. But today was different. Sleep claimed him and visions of Blair Bass hung in his head.

When he woke a sense of urgency ran through his veins. The dreams (or memories) of Blair and his human life were becoming more and more vivid. She came to him constantly now. Now knowing what actual history the book contained, his thoughts became more and inventive in their endeavor to sort the truth from fiction.

At his door, a whimpering and naked man kneeled low, offering his neck.

"I see I didn't get the usual," he commented dryly.

"Sire. There were no available females," he whispered, and Mack studied the bent man. He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but grabbed him with lightening speed and had a nice spot of breakfast.

* * *

Once nicely fed and rosy, showered and dressed in his favorite gray suit with a popping yellow tie, he strolled out of the room. There was a sense of purpose to his step; he now had a plan that he was sure would work. As he entered the small foyer where his servants had started a nice fire, red wine was made readily available. Afterward, they all scurried around at the sight of him, intent on hiding unless he called them forth.

"Sire," the elderly housekeeper bent humbly before him. "A problem, sire."

Mack grabbed a glass of wine, smelling it cautiously. "Humm… Calgean… 2441? A sharp Shiraz. It's a pity that family died; they produced the boldest of reds. Have we any _Scotch_?"

"Sire…" The man tried again, but it wasn't until Mack was done with his first taste of the vintage that he finally turned to look at the man.

"I supposed there's a _problem_ serious enough to marry desperation with my fine wine and openly ignore my questions," he murmured.

"Site, there's _witches _about," the man hissed.

Mack rolled his eyes, annoyed at such incompetence in servitude. "You don't say. Tell me, why else do you think I'm here? For a lovely touristic stroll through the ruins at midnight? Hardly seems like appropriate conduct for a vampire. Wouldn't you think?"

"But sire… they've _surrounded_ the house," the servant cried desperately. "We're outnumbered."

Mack contemplated this, conscious of not losing his calm. An open attack on the Prince of Pendragon would be _just_ what was needed to start the war against Luther. Mack took another sip. He needed a plan. He could hide, run away and save his hide, leaving his servants and minions behind. However… There was a tantalizing prospect.

Witches, though powerful in words, were weak in body.

Another sip.

That prospect, so very extravagantly moronic, so impedingly disobedient that it made his spirits rise. Luther would be _appalled_. A slow smirk formed in his face.

"Bring me my sword. I sense I won't be needing my squash practice this week," he commanded, and his minions looked at him with wide-eyed wonder.

The most definite way to create a legend was to always go against the odds. The mere notion of it set fire to his balls in the most delicious of ways. He finished his wine and, before he had placed the goblet down, the box that contained his sword was brought to him. Incased in its fine cherry wood was his prized procession. He opened it, smirking slightly at the object before him.

The only thing he hated about this plan was the fact that his favorite suit would get ruined. Witches were such bitches sometimes.

"Open the doors," he ordered, grabbing his sword and confidently strolling to the main entrance. The minions whimpered and crawled behind furniture, knowing full well the consequences of their master going into certain death. Death-stamp for them also.

The _scent_ of witches filled the air, and his nose twitched. He wouldn't have to wait long, they would surely come. Confidently, he strolled to the middle of the ruins outside the large home and stood his ground. He wasn't going to hide; he had too much pride for that. They were closing in on him. Though he couldn't see them, the air itself became thick with their presence, and he fought his natural urge to simply abandon post and flee.

Could this perhaps be his greatest odds? No. Fighting Luther himself would be his greatest odds. _This_ he could handle.

His pale hand grasped the sword, and he cracked his neck.

"I don't play hide and seek well. I'd ask you to show yourselves," he declared, his Fauntleroy tone sure to piss them off and this make the entire madness of this an even sweeter prospect. "I have other things to do. Other people to piss off."

This, of course, enraged them and, slowly but surely, they began to show themselves. The oddest thought went through his head at the sight of them. There were not as many as he expected, but enough to kill him. That was good enough.

"Dead and gone, vampire," one whispered to him.

There was one thing that always unsettled him about the witches themselves: their total lack of hygiene. He found it appalling and distressing, and frankly, insulting. He didn't touch them because he couldn't. He didn't touch them because they grossed him out. Their slimy skin, their greenish pallor sickened him. Their hair, ratty and tangled in mass heaps, usually lay dry and brittle around their waist. Their smelly clothes, and just overall _greasiness_ of it all. The thought of them made his cock instantly flaccid. He wouldn't touch such a creature if they paid him. Money was inconsequential to him in such a case.

"Foolish boy," another hissed.

"Wandered far from home, _Pendragon_," one laughed.

"This is no arena, _boy_," snipped another one.

"We know what _haunts_ you."

"Your little silver stick cannot harm us."

Mack rolled his eyes. "Ladies. All I ask is to keep the damage to the suit to a bare minimum. It's French. That's all."

A few laughed, and he braced himself for what would surely be an all-sides attack. His plan _had_ to work. He wasn't meant to die like this. He wasn't meant to be butchered. He was meant for much more than this. He could _feel_ it in his bones.

One witch let out an angry cry, and he felt the air shift, knowing full well they were launching towards him.

"HE'S MINE!"

Fuck yeah, he scored! He attempted to hide the glint of satisfaction that threatened to spill from his eyes.

He'd never done anything like this before. He'd followed (mostly) the path Luther had set for him, but no more. Now that he thought about it, this whole rebellion and questioning was damn fun.

"No!" Another cried, distressed.

"Yes! He's _mine_!" He turned and saw them parting for her. The old hag that had disguised herself as Blair and come to him. The one person who held the key to his past. _And_ his future.

"He's the childe of Pendragon. You know _full_ well that he belongs to me," she announced clearly. "I _claim_ him. He's not to be _touched_ unless it's by me. He's not to be cursed if not by me, and he's not to be had… if not by me."

The witches protested slightly, glaring at him, but began to lose interest in the claimed vampire. They started slowly flittering into the night air, disappearing taking the toxic smell with them.

The old hag turned slowly and limped to him. "Sword?" She held out her hand.

He looked down at his precious baby. "I'm attached to it."

"I assume you're more attached to your balls?" She replied. He rolled his eyes and handed it to her. "Don't worry, Charles. You'll get it back. You're going to need it."

"My name is –"

"Charles. _Chuck_ Bass. You're going to have to come to peace with that one. One can only live in denial for so long," she snapped. "Now, come. I assume you didn't come for tea and fritters."

He followed her, his dark eyes scanning the night until they reached the end of town, where hills began peppering the earth's ground. She began flying off, and he swiftly followed her, intent on reaching their destination as soon as possible.

They finally reached a clearing that held a small, pretty cottage, devoid of any maleficent signs – an honest surprise.

"Come out of the night air, Charles," she urged as she entered, and he nodded at her invitation. Inside was a stereotypical witch's hut. With spells and odd artifacts peppering every corner of the room. Strange and dysfunctional noises were heard.

"I knew you would find me. I didn't, however, know that you had a death wish," she snapped.

Mack shrugged his shoulders and took a seat, staring calmly at her. "No death wish. I knew _you_ would find me."

The witch bristled and moved about the room, pulling disgusting things from jars and throwing them all in what could only be described a witches' brew.

"Bold, Charles. Stupid, but bold… Seems to me you've been feeling… _odd_." She smirked, her toothless gums peeking out at him. "Haven't you?"

Mack stood slowly and pulled the two photos from the inside pocket of his suit. "Where did you find these?" He demanded.

She laughed softly. "I _stole_ them."

"From where?" He asked.

"Your _grave_," she replied, sending a warm chill down his spine. He watched as she caressed a bag of bones, petting them lovingly.

"When?" He prodded.

"The day you were buried. I had been let go from my servitude by your _magnanimous_ Luther… and my first trip was to New York. That's when I grabbed the photos, and met _her_."

Mack paused. Curiosity took over his being, and he finally pulled out the stupid little novel. "You know of this?"

She barely looked at the little book before petting the bones once more. "Oh… I _know_ of it."

Mack paused. The following answer would change everything. When asking a game-changing question, one should pause to savor the air.

"Is it true?" He whispered.

"Answers will _cost_ you, Charles," she warned, petting her bones.

"IS IT TRUE?" He roared, his fangs elongating.

She laughed out loud, happiness and glee marking her deformed features. "Temper, temper… Fine, I'll speak."

Mack raised his brow, urging her to continue.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He snapped.

"Yes. It's true. It's all true," she said, and then shook her head softly. "Poor little thing… Never even saw it coming." She set the bones to the side and turned her attention to his sword, which she placed on the table. "You see… Humphrey made three grave mistakes. One: he labeled it as a fictional work rather than a biographical work. Two: well, I assume you read it; it's atrociously common. And finally, three… he wrote it about _Chuck Bass_. Chuck Bass, who was dead and gone, but his _wife_ wasn't."

Mack cocked his head as he tried to understand her.

"The third mistake was underestimating Blair's rage and overestimating their barely-there "friendship". She was a pit-bull, that one. Made sure it never made it out of the gate. She purchased 433 of the copies printed and had them burnt. She spent a great deal of time destroying the copies. It was said that she was buried with one, and the rest were either owned by his family or never found. _Except_ for the one in your hand."

Mack looked at the small dingy book.

"Because I was only sure of where one of the copies would be… Well, I stole that, too. I didn't think Blair's bones would need it. So I stole it, read it and, years later, I donated it to the Roman archives. Anonymously, of course," she continued. "And there it sat. Waiting, year after year, decade after decade, century after century… just waiting for _you_ to find it. Waiting for you to _want_ it bad enough. For you to want answers. Only then would you be ready. Only then."

Mack studied her. "You _set_ me up," he growled angrily. More angry with himself, if he were being honest. "You knew I would go find it. You knew I would be interested in it."

The witch looked unapologetically at him. "I didn't think it was a great secret that there was something in it for me all this time. Did you think I this out of the goodness of my heart? To rekindle the romance of two long lost lovers that were a mere blip in the history of the world?" She laughed. "_Please_."

Mack felt silly. Like a school kid in time out. Luther was right. Witches were not to be trusted.

"I'll _kill_ you," he threatened.

"How? You've discovered what none of your kind has been able to achieve in a thousand years? I'm not the eldest of my kind for nothing," she taunted. "Don't get all upset, Charles. There's something in it for you, too."

Mack didn't want to hear her; she was a mad thing, and he had fallen _victim_ to it.

"I know a way…"

The mere way she slithered the phrase had his ears perking despite his desire to turn them off.

"You know a way…" he urged. "To _what_? Go to the past?"

She laughed a bit and grabbed a vial filled with a green goo liquid. He was transfixed by the color of it.

"Vampires can be _so_ dense. Of course not!" She chided. "I know a way… of making you wake to your _past_ self."

Mack stopped, confused by her insinuation.

"Ever heard the statement… I wish I knew _then_ what I know _now_?" She whispered, and he unconsciously leaned in.

She jingled the vial before his face. "How do you _think_ we witches know so much? How we are both here and there and everywhere? How we know the past _and_ the future?"

"Spells…" he murmured, his brain working overtime.

"Silly boy…" she chuckled. "We only know but a handful of spells. That is only a handful of the work. The rest is just theatrics, really. But our most important one… the most sacred… is _this_. A little _wish_."

"How much?" He demanded. It was his. He needed this. He needed to _fix _his life and get back to his evil vampire ways, which no thoughts of _them_ could pollute_. _Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. That was his lot in life, he _loved_ that life. He lived for it. Never mind that he was bored of it. He blamed the boredom on the visions of her coming to him night after night. But if he could just… _remove_ her before anything. He would be free. He would be the vampire he was _made_ to be.

"Foolish vampire… not even _you_ are willing to pay the price for this," she said, laughing slightly.

Mack looked over her, his jaw tightening as he smirked. Did she not know _who_ he was? "_Try_ me."

The witch leaned back, vial dangling between her wrinkled fingers. "For the vial. For the chance to wish. For the possibilities of what you could do. For that? I'm willing to give you the _discounted_ rate."

Mack nodded, his fists clenching and unclenching. It was _so_ close.

"A vial of the potion for… Luther's head on a silver platter." She smirked.

Checkmate.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: I will try to have the next chapter up soon, as I am sure you all will have a bunch of questions :) Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Soulless****  
**_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

"_You came to my life, with what you were bringing, made of light and bread and shadow I expected you, and Like this I need you, Like this I love you, and to those who want to hear tomorrow that which I will not tell them, let them read it here, and let them back off today because it is early for these arguments._

_Tomorrow we will only give them, a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love."_

_Pablo Neruda_

"A vial of the potion for… Luther's head on a silver platter." She smirked.

Mack stared at her for a long, damned moment before bristling and angrily turning away from her.

"Master manipulator," he muttered. The anger he felt in his veins was all for himself. How could he be so very obtuse? Had five hundred year not taught him anything at all? He thought he knew life in general. He thought he understood humans and their pitiful plight. He thought he had a hundred answers to one hundred questions. Yet here he was in the most precarious of situations.

It was not precarious because he would ever attack Luther, but because in that very moment – in that long, damned moment… he _considered_ it.

"Oh, but you _will_. Be it today or tomorrow or in another time… You _will_ be the one to kill Luther," she hissed, and he slammed his palm down on the table, making the items on it bounce under his strength.

"I would _never_!" He shouted back in a hoarse whisper. "I would _die_ for Luther."

The witch stared back at him, unfazed. She studied the arch of his back, the pallid color of his hand, and then finally nodded. "These five hundred years I often wondered if what I saw that night was the wrong omen, the wrong interpretation… but I see now… you _are_ the one."

"Stop saying this," he snapped. "Your words are mad. I am _not_ a Byronic hero."

"We're all mad in this fine world. It's just that some of us can hide it better than others." She spoke with clarity. "And Luther _knows_."

Mack began pacing back and forth on the begrimed floor of that very deceiving cottage. "Luther knows _nothing_. He's probably in the middle of a three-month orgy with a kidnapped soccer team."

The witch let out a laugh. "You foolish boy. I _told_ him when we found you."

Mack paused, staring at her as if she had truly lost her wits.

"You see… there's only one thing more powerful than sire's blood." She came forth, the vial still dangling in her hands. "One thing that the storybooks actually got _right_."

Mack blinked at her, confused.

"The blood of true love," she whispered. "It's the most _powerful_ thing on earth. Such as has _never_ been seen before."

Mack started shaking his head in denial.

"I have asked myself a thousand times _how_ could a fledging destroy the kraken of vampires?" She came closer. "And I found it… in a pompous grave on a rainy New York night. _You_ were born to do this –"

"I was born to be a Prince –"

"My _dear_ child. You are much more than just a Prince." She nodded. "Luther, in his absolute self-centricity, thought that he could manipulate you and with that _control_ his own fate. He thought that having you at his control would elevate his power even more." She circled Mack making him shift. "What you don't understand is that underneath all those pretenses of fatherly love was just an owner, holding the _leash_ of his pet dog."

Mack roared at her, reaching for her neck, but once his skin made contact with hers he pulled back, badly burnt. She laughed.

"Realizing that someone doesn't give a damn about you hurts to the bone, now doesn't it?" She crackled.

Mack cradled his hand, watching the blistering skin slowly return to normal. He wanted Scotch so badly at this moment that he felt his own throat constricting at the thought.

"You are _filled_ with lies," Mack snapped angrily at her.

"Oh, I'm filled with _truth_," she bit right back.

"You hold some sick vendetta against Luther, and you're using _me_ to get to him," Mack rationalized.

"I do have my own agenda. I do not deny it, I hate Luther more than you'll ever know," she said calmly. "If I could… I would kill him myself. It was not always like that. There was a time when witches and vampire were allies. Luther _destroyed_ that… right around the time you were born."

Mack's fangs elongated, and he hissed at her. "I _know_ the stories."

The witch chuckled. "You know _nothing_."

Mack stared at the vial in her hand and found himself at a most interesting crossroads. One that he never in a thousand years would've imagined for himself. In another time, another place, the choice might've been clear. There would've been no denial.

"If I were to take it… if I were to go back… I would kill her. Suck her _dry_. Then find Luther and tell him what a crazy bitch you are," he warned.

She smiled and looked over the vial. "I highly doubt it."

If there was one thing that Mack absolutely hated, it was someone not believing his word. It infuriated him.

This is why he did what he decided to do. Roaring and moving at a speed that only a vampire could, he grabbed the bones the witch had been lovingly petting and held them over the fire.

The witch let out an anguished scream. "NO!"

"The bones for the vial, you fucking bitch!" He roared, dipping the bones deeper in the fire and making the witch cry out even more as she lurched forward. "I will _destroy_ them!" He threatened.

The witch stopped, glaring at him and hissing. "You _foolish_ boy!"

"The fool here is you. _Thinking_ that I would kill my own sire," he snapped.

"Oh, you _will_," she hissed.

"The vial!" He cried, dropping the bones even lower.

"Not the bones!" She whimpered.

"Then give me the vial!" He was done bargaining.

She glared at him, and he felt his confidence rise once more as she slowly but surely inched the vial towards him.

"Open it," he commanded.

She slowly did, sending him hateful glares.

"How does it work?" He demanded.

She was silent, regarding him icily.

"HOW DOES IT WORK?" The bones inched closer to the fire and she reacted, staring at him with pleading eyes.

"You wake up in your past body… knowing what you know now," she explained, and he nodded.

"_When_ in the past?" He asked.

"Fate decides that, not I," she said. "Now, _please_, the bones!"

"What happens to my body here? In this time?" He asked.

"You go, it goes. The body cannot live without the soul," she explained, her eyes fixed on the bones.

"Vampires have no soul!" He roared.

"LIES!" She laughed slightly. "Luther and his many lies. Vampires _do_ have a soul, they're animated, and anything that is animated and freethinking has a soul. When humans are turned into vampires, their soul remains dormant, free of a moral compass. For the majority of them, the _vast_ majority of them, it remains dormant until the die they're killed. However… there are a _few_ who have woken from their slumber."

Mack stared at her, unable to discern if her words were truth or fiction.

"You think it's impossible… because of the things you've done?" She came closer. "You weren't a very nice little human, you know. Humans for the most part are quite terrible."

Mack reached out his hand for the vial.

"Their soul is _not_ dormant, yet they kill, they destroy, they hate, they abuse… They have no excuse, do they?" She whispered, finally giving him the vial.

Vial at hand and decision to be made, Mack thought for a minute.

"Why can't I remember my human life?" he demanded.

"Luther made me put a spell on you," she nodded.

"How is it undone?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No way known to me," she responded and he growled angrily. "Pinky swear."

He turned sharply to the vial at hand. Drinking this would take him to a time he didn't remember, to destroy a life that he couldn't forget.

The face of the lovely Blair Bass flashed before his eyes, and he made a quick, systematic decision. He had to fix this. Had to destroy her in order to be free. He would deal with his maker when he returned. He was sure that Luther, who had shown him nothing but kindness, has an explanation for all of this.

"A word of caution," the witch warned. "Do _not_ fall in love with her. It'll destroy you; it'll destroy her. Watching her age year after year age while you remain eternally young and beautiful. She'll crumble before your eyes… Do not fall in love with her."

His eyes darkened. "That will not be a problem." After gulping back the bitter liquid and then quickly throwing the bones to the witch, he stepped back, watching as she cuddled them.

"Oh, my baby, my poor baby!" She cooed to them as he grimaced.

"What happens now?" He asked, but he didn't have to wait for her to answer as he lurched over with a sharp stomach pain. He hissed, his fangs elongating.

"Goodnight, Chuck Bass," she chuckled. "I'm sure I will see you in another life."

And then he blacked out, the pain taking over his senses.

* * *

He really wanted to just burrow deeper into the warmth of the bed and the silk of the sheets. He was lazed and content. His belly was full and his loins were buried deep in a warm snatch. Well… a moderately warm snatch.

He opened his eyes to find a head of brown curls over his chest, and he groaned. He pushed her off him and found a wide-eyed dead girl on him. This stunned him, and he nearly jumped off the bed, staring wide-eyed at her.

He looked around the room, crouched and ready for a fight, despite the fact that he was stark naked. No one came, no one else was there. It was the most luxurious of rooms, with dark tapestries and plush carpet.

Mack recognized it: Luther's old home in the hills of Scotland. He took a deep breath, trying to focus himself. Had the potion worked? When was he? In what time?

He noticed that there were hardly any clothes in the room; the closet was empty and things were generally very disorganized. There was only a mess and the smell of old blood.

He stalked purposefully to the door and was annoyed to find it locked. He growled and yanked once more, using his strength, but it didn't bulge.

It dimly occurred to him that if he were still considered a fledging, they would've locked him here to protect him from himself at Luther's orders. He sighed and stalked back to the room, opening the drawers. There were nearly bare, but he did find some pins and a key. He stared at the key before grabbing it, walking back and inserting it into the hole as he turned the knob.

It worked and the door opened to reveal a dark corridor. Completely undaunted by his nudity, he walked forth. He didn't particularly like Scotland; it was cold and bleary. He much preferred France or Italy, or even Argentina or Morocco. But at least he knew where he was.

He walked to the servants' quarters to demand clothing and found a group of them polishing silver and glass. As he entered, they all screamed, yelling and running for cover.

"Enough!" He resounded, annoyed at their ridiculous behavior.

"My lord…" One of them peeked from behind a chair, his face pale. "How did you get out?"

"With a key, you idiot. You –" he pointed to one of the girls. "Find me clothes. You –" a man. "Get rid of the leftovers in my room." He turned to the elder servant. "Where goes Luther?"

They all stood still watching him, still with wide eyes and horror.

"He – he visits Russia, my lord." The eldest said softly, still staring at him in awe.

"Is there a reason I still have no clothes?" Mack asked, annoyed.

The girl whimpered and ran out of the room as Mack stared at the other servant. "What year is it?"

"2015… you've been a fledging but for a year…" The man whispered, in awe.

Mack looked around. Now he could understand why they were as horrified as they were. A fledging not causing insane amount of chaos was just not heard of. He needed to get out of here before they deified him.

"Arrange for transport. I need to go to New York," he commanded. "Now."

They didn't move.

"Am I not your master?" He snapped, and they all scrambled. The girl came forth and handed him a robe, which he snatched out of her hands and slipped on. "I need more than just this."

She nodded and he quickly began to place the house in order, getting himself all packed and ready for the limo to pick him up and start his voyage to New York.

* * *

New York, New York.

A vampire's paradise. The air here was different, Mack noted as he watched his luggage being piled into the waiting limo in the middle of the night. He'd been to New York just once, at the end of the 21st century. Luther hadn't liked it and he had not returned, not wanting to displease his maker. But he couldn't deny that he'd had nothing but fun. Women willingly gave themselves to him, and there was something euphoric about the entire city.

He had to remember to keep his thoughts in order. He came here for a mission, and he was not going to fail. It was a fine night. A fine night to track and kill Blair Bass. This was his mission and, once she and the child were gone, he would be able to go back to being the Prince he was meant to be. He would find satisfaction in his life.

"We're ready, my lord." One of the men nodded at him, and Mack followed, entering his limo and letting himself sink into the leather.

He'd been dead for a year. Which meant one thing and one thing only. He'd have to be very careful, _extremely_ careful. Anyone could recognize him and, if he was as well known as that stupid book had made him out to be, he was walking on thin ice.

Vampires had accommodations everywhere they went, especially in old European towns and in New York City. Luther had an account in a hotel in the middle of the Upper East Side, and Mack realized how dangerous this was. Anyone would know him, but he was no fledging. He'd have to pull every trick in his bag. From glamouring people to enchanting them, even flying if needed.

He watched as the city, alive with heat and blood, passed by him. This was truly the city that never slept. There was a sense of coming home that he couldn't deny, and he felt it boil in him. He shook it off and watched as they pulled up to a high and modern building. Placing a hat on his head and wrapping his neck in a scarf, he exited when his door was opened.

"This way, sir." He was led into the building. Once inside his room, he took it in, making sure it was to his liking. It was spacious and fine, reminding him of all the things he enjoyed about the 21st century. It was light and airy and nothing like the deep rooms of Luther's liking. It was modernly styled, and he found that he really enjoyed the classic simplicity.

Walking to the bar, he was surprised and somehow pleased to find a bottle of aged Scotch.

His throat had been asking for it for a while, and he figured he might as well give into it. Serving himself a glass, he sipped it and there was a flash of something _familiar_.

"_You've been drinking," Blair whispered, coming up behind him. He turned to look at her; she was showing off her large belly._

He jumped back, surprised at that moment of what could only be constituted as a memory. He shook himself off, hating that he was falling apart. He knocked back the rest of the liquor and stared at the mirror before him. It was blank. It showed nothing. He was nothing. He was not human, and it was really not the time to begin thinking that he was. He growled and smashed the glass against the wall.

He turned when there was a knock on the door. He let in one of the servants that he had employed.

"The address that you requested, sire." The man nodded and walked out. Mack looked down at the paper before him. It was time. It had to happen tonight. He had to find Blair Bass and kill her. Destroy all that was left of his previous life so he could finally be free.

* * *

_Of course_ she lived here. This was the heart of class in New York, so she must reside in it. A glove-wearing doorman stood regal and proud in his post as the night carried on around him.

Mack stood on the other side of the street, covered in darkness as he watched the people go to and fro. His neck craned to the very top of the building.

He'd done her right, hadn't he? Taking her to her the top of the world? And this was how she repaid him? Haunting him in his dreams, making him yearn for het? Why hadn't she found herself someone else? Someone to love her as passionately as she had apparently loved him? What was so great about _them_? He didn't comprehend this, no matter how absolutely gorgeous he found her to be. No matter how badly imagined how absolutely fantastic it would feel to bury himself in her and never let go.

Actually, this was _exactly_ why she needed to be removed.

He was certain of it. Nothing could change his mind. Full of purpose, he prepared himself to go behind the building and make his way to the top. A long limo pulled up in front of the building, however, and he paused. He didn't have to wait long before a man came out of it, dressed in a fine suit with his very blond hair slicked back. He laughed as he reached in to help a woman out.

And there she was.

Mack felt his entire world quickly slipping from his hands.

_She_ was there. The real her. Not a dream, not an illusion, not a memory – the _real_ Blair.

He felt his cock involuntarily harden at the thought of her being so close, and he cursed himself. He had less and less control whenever she was involved. He wished he had more Scotch, and then he remember that the liquid only served to bring back more memories of his life, so he needed to stay as far from it as possible.

She wore a red gown and her hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, loose tendrils fell around her face and she had on an embroidered coat to keep her warm from the cold night. His mouth watered at the sight of her neck, pale and alive. Filled with rich blood that would make him stronger than ever. She was, after all, his "true love". He scoffed at the word, but his thoughts darkened as he watched the man who helped her out bring her gloved hand to his lips.

Her lashes fluttered and she quickly pulled her hand away, flushing prettily.

And that's when he realized it. She was _playing_ a role. This was not her. She was under layer and layer of makeup and clothes and fine earrings and white gloves.

"Can I call you tomorrow?" He heard the stupid human ask her.

There was a strange sensation that he had _never_ felt coming over him. It was a sickening feeling, wanting to disembody the man and keep him as far from Blair as possible. It was disgusting. He'd never been much of a bloodthirsty vampire. He rather preferred to drink good wine, enjoy the company of beautiful women and rule the kingdom. But right now, right at this moment, he felt like punching the man until his nose was shoved into his cranium.

He controlled himself a bit when Blair smiled, shaking her head.

"Not tomorrow, I have to take the baby to get his shots in the morning and he's going to be cranky all day," she replied, and even her voice was melodic. It intoxicated him.

"I can come over, help you with him," he insisted, and Mack's eyes narrowed.

"Christian… I will call you if I can…" She squeezed his hand. "I did have a good time. I had a really good time. Thank you."

The man smiled stiffly, but nevertheless let her go, watching as she entered the building and the doorman devotedly opened the door for her.

Mack stared at her retreating figure through the glass doors for so long that he missed the limo's departure. This was it. End it now. Go to her; seduce her. Have her.

And then… kill her.

This was the plan.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: Thank you so much, you guys for reviewing, it means a lot to me! The next chapter should be up in a few days and tons of Blair in it :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence."  
Vincent Van Gogh_

Climbing up to the top of the world was a cinch; it was finding a way around the building that was the hard part. He elevated himself, swift as the night, and made his way to the penthouse. Finding a pristine balcony with some flowers, he landed there and hid along the edge until he could see a sliver of the happenings inside through the French doors. The balcony was pitch black, so he became one with the shadows.

He had but one little crevice of a view inside the home in the clouds.

He _ached_ to see her again; he was addicted to her visage, he couldn't help himself. The room he looked into was a grandiose bedroom with a palatial bed, hardwood floors and clean elegant furniture. The walls were a pale blue shade that was highlighted by some of the accents in the room.

He didn't have to wait long before Blair walked in.

_Blair._

He felt his skin flush; filling with red blood he knew he didn't pump.

She was beautiful, elegant and pristine. Yet her face… Gone was the facade that he had witnessed with the human, now replaced with utter woe. He could read it in her eyes. Her coat and gloves were gone, and he could see the graceful dress that she wore. She was majestic in red. She walked to the dresser; he could see her profile as she slowly removed her fine jewelry.

"I know what you're thinking… He's bit pathetic. Bad haircut and shoddy tailored suit – overall, he screams parvenu," she said to the room. He could hear her with utmost clarity. His ears picked up all of her lovely words. He was sickened with himself. He was nearly pressing himself against the glass just to be near her. "But I'm trying… I'm _trying_. Lily was very excited to see me, and so was Eric. I guess that's a good thing."

That's when he saw it. She was talking to a picture. A picture of _them. _He scoffed.

"Anyways…" She slipped off her shoes, and he noticed how very tiny she really was. She was nothing but a drop, a tiny little thing. He tilted his head and watched her slip into soft slippers. Then she walked into the closet, and he waited impatiently until she emerged wearing a silky white robe that drowned her.

He heard some childish screams and cries, which made her walk to the door.

"I sorry, Ms. Blair, baby want you –"

"Mama!" A baby cried, and Mack stood transfixed as he watched Blair coo and reach for the baby in the maid's arms. The child was no more than a year old. He was dressed in a pale blue footsie, had short brown hair, tousled over his forehead, with slick brown eyes and pale skin.

_Brenton_.

Mack tried to picture the man he had saved in Paris and compare him to the baby before him, but he couldn't. It was one thing to consider a grown man your son, and another thing to see him as a child.

"There, there, my prince." Blair rocked him. "I'll take him, Dorota." She took the bottle the maid offered her, and then closed the door behind her.

"Mama…" the child whimpered against her chest, and she walked him to a rocking chair in the corner of the room.

This was the perfect opportunity for Mack. Both in the same room. All he had to do was break through the glass and kill her and the child. It would be done. If there was one place a vampire didn't need an invitation to, it was his own home.

_Do it_.

His feet didn't move. His body didn't move as he watched her rock the baby back and forth, feeing him his bottle. The child stared at her with adoring eyes as she hummed at him.

"Go to sleep, my love," she whispered. Mack heard her, and her words, sweet as they were, recoiled inside of him. The baby lifted his foot and then bounced it off her lap, babbling through his bottle.

"Oh, I know you're sleepy…" She kissed his forehead, and the baby's eyes fluttered closed. "I bet you gave Dorota a hard time," she chuckled lightly.

Mack was enraptured. Against his will, he was entranced. He desired, _needed_ to be closer, thirsted to bask in the enticing warmth of the scene. There were things here he had never seen, things he never would've thought he wanted; and now these things were furiously lulling him, tempting him. He came here to kill her and the child, but the truth was that, on this night… On this night, he couldn't even come close.

Angry with himself about the entire ordeal, he turned, leapt off the building and hid in the shadows of the street below.

* * *

Upon hearing the rustling outside, Blair stopped rocking Brenton and looked to the balcony. Fear was the only word that could describe the feeling that rushed through her. She became instantly protective of her baby. Looking down, she found Brenton asleep, his little mouth no longer suckling on his bottle. She carefully picked him up and set him down in the middle of her bed, making sure he was warm under the covers and combing back his brows – those rebellious brows that he got from his father. He made small protesting noises at the lack of her warmth, but she softly shushed him, humming a bit and making him settle against the sheets.

Once he was still, she turned, pulled her robe closer to her body, and walked to her porch. She flicked on the switch for the outside porch light, since it was bathed in darkness. All she saw was the tasteful Parisian furniture she'd had sent in for her weekend morning café and croissants, her blooming flowers and nothing else. Careful not to wake Brenton, she opened the French door and stepped out into the night, the cool air making her skin prickle. Quickly, she fastened the robe around her thin frame. She looked around and found nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, she stepped towards the ledge. The city view that Chuck had chosen was breathtaking at times like these. The perfect view of Central Park, with buildings outlining the background. It was a billion dollar view.

She leaned forward, looking down into the streets, seeing the trees that peppered the sidewalk below. People below looked like little ants milling about the world, not concerned with the woman at the top of it. But there was… _something_ she couldn't describe. A presence. It was the only way to form it into words. She felt a _presence_.

"I swear, Chuck Bass, if you begin to haunt me, I will make my way to the depths of hell to smack you," she murmured softly.

From inside, Brenton whimpered loudly for his mother and Blair quickly shook herself out of her reverie, casting one last glance to the streets below before quickly going inside and comforting her babe.

It was times like these when she missed him until it hurt, because a piece of her was now lost and gone and, no matter how much she loved Brenton, she wondered if anyone out there would ever love her the way Chuck Bass once did.

* * *

Mack stood stock-still and rooted on the spot, staring at the place where Blair Bass had looked over the edge.

A mere human would've never seen her, considering she was so far above, but he… He could see her clearly. See the way her curls danced in the cold night wind, the way her skin prickled, and the way her dark eyes scanned the streets below.

He didn't know what to think. She had _felt_ him and that in and of itself was so upsetting to him that he wanted to roar and perhaps rip a hole in a human body. Not because she felt him, but because _he_ felt something tugging inside of him, making him want to float up to her and hold her in his arms.

His dormant soul, it seemed, wanted to be reunited with its former love.

Well, he was in control of all that was him, and he would do the impossible to ensure that his soul remained happily dormant and hidden – and that Blair Bass stayed dead.

Tomorrow he would kill her. He just needed a better plan. This plan obviously sucked. With that thought and a growl, he stalked back to his hotel.

* * *

Blair had a little alarm system that she liked to call Brenton Bass. At 6:43 AM, she felt a light tugging and then a warm mouth attaching itself to her nipple, beginning to suckle. She shifted and opened her eyes to find a messy-haired Brenton nursing and looking up at her with watery eyes. He had been crying, and she had not heard him!

She quickly coddled him, positioning herself so that he could get more milk, and he sighed happily.

"I'm sorry, baby!" She kissed his little hand, and he murmured into her skin.

Her mother wandered around life horrified that Blair was still nursing a 12 month old, but Blair had been militant when she researched breastfeeding and was adamant that her baby would be healthy. He would be breastfed until he was 14 months old, and not a minute earlier.

"_Blair, that is absolutely absurd! These new-age doctors don't know what they're talking about! I never breastfed you, and look how healthy you are!" Eleanor had exclaimed._

"_My dear, I have heard nothing but good things about this –" Cyrus had attempted to pacify his wife._

"_Mother, he's feeding, and that's the end of it!" Blair had snapped and had quickly grabbed Brenton under his arms, lifting him with her as she stormed to the nursery._

Once Brenton was done, he sat up and climbed on her, which only served to bring a smile on her face.

"Good morning! You're ready to socialize now?" She asked, smiling.

"Mama," he replied, laying on her and tucking his head under her chin.

She held him as she reached for the photo frame that was by the night table. It was a daily routine. Brenton's eyes brightened at the sight of the frame.

"Dada," he informed her at seeing an old photo of Chuck, and she nodded, encouraging him.

"That's right, baby," she said, letting him hold the frame with his chubby hand. "And where is Daddy?"

Brenton's brows furrowed, and then he stared at her.

"Where is he?" She repeated softly.

Slowly he lifted his little finger and pointed it to the ceiling. "Bye, bye…"

"He's in heaven with grandpa." She kissed his temple.

The baby quickly got bored, crawling off her and attempting to slide himself off the bed. She moved and quickly set him on his feet. She was always afraid he would lose his balance and land face-first on the floor.

Brenton wiggled out of her arms and took careful steps towards the door. He had just begun walking a few weeks ago; he was very unsteady on his legs but wanted to show her he could do it every time. He turned, throwing her a happy smile, and she nodded right behind him. A smell hit her.

"You need a diaper change," she groaned, and he let out a babble. She opened the door to find Dorota already on her way to the room.

"Doda!" Brenton cried when he spotted his maid. The woman quickly picked him and, knowing he needed a diaper change, prepared to do her duty. Dorota was loudly vocal about the French nanny's inability to properly change a diaper.

"Get him ready, Dorota. I want to be at the doctor's early to see if he can take him ahead of time," Blair sighed. Brenton gibbered to Dorota, having no idea that Blair was dreading this day.

Serena had gone with her for his first set of shots, but she had been no help whatsoever. A two-month-old Brenton sobbed uncontrollably, and Serena did right along with him. Blair had still been sort of numb with Chuck's disappearance. Serena had refused to go to his 4 month set, too traumatized with the first time, so Eric had gone instead and he was a much better help, so much so that he also accompanied her for his 6 month shots as well. But this week Eric was out of town, Serena was "incredibly busy." Lily was sick and not allowed near the baby, Nate was notoriously afraid of needles and simply attempted to convince her that his godson didn't need the shots – so she was left with either calling Rufus (which was just not happening), or going by herself and taking Dorota.

She'd have to do this one on her own. Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself. Every time she had to take him to get hurt, she would be shaken for days and would hate Chuck even more for leaving her to do this on her own. Not that he would've been much help either; she was sure he would've threatened to sue the practitioner without letting them finish all of the vaccines.

Later on, when she sat with her unknowing baby in her lap as the doctor prepared his shots, she cursed Chuck once more. He should be here, holding his son or perhaps distracting her. As Brenton screamed and begged his mother for it to stop, she let tears dribble down her cheeks. She hated Chuck; she hated him so much at times. He'd broken promises to her in the past, but never one this important. And every time something like this happened, she hated him for it.

On the way home, she made Arthur stop by the duck pond and, with Brenton bundled up and unhappy, she sat there with him while Dorota tried to get ducks to come near them in order to distract the baby from the pain in both his little thighs.

"Look Mister Brenton, nice duck…" Dorota encouraged the baby, but Brenton didn't move from his mother's arms, his eyes still teary.

"Do you want to feed them, baby?" Blair encouraged him.

Brenton shook his head and buried his face in Blair's chest. Blair sighed, kissing his head.

"Oww, Mama…" Brenton protested, touching his leg lightly and wincing, which only served to break Blair's heart. She needed Chuck again. There were moments when life would distract her and she would be strong and independent, knowing that he would've wanted her to be OK. But other moments, she needed to lean on him. They were a team, and missing him was like missing a piece of her foundation. A house, no matter how well it's built, will crumble if it lacks the strong foundation.

"I know, baby, Mommy promises it will be a long, long time before you have to get anymore," she assured him, wiping his tears from his face.

"We take him home," Dorota nodded, and Blair agreed. Ducks couldn't distract Brenton from his pain, and Brenton couldn't distract Blair from hers.

* * *

Mack Pendragon, after five hundred years of life, smelled an ambush a mile away. The moment his senses got control of him, shaking him from the newest Blair Bass dream, he was confronted with a man watching him sleep. Not a man… a vampire.

On instinct, he leapt out of the bed, landing on all four on the ceiling of the hotel room and baring his fangs. This is why he hated hotels; no one needed an invitation to come in.

"Well, well… You're no fledging, are you?" The vampire below mused.

"Two seconds to live. I've killed braver men," Mack snapped.

"I believe you," the man said casually and strode out of the room. "Put some clothes on, you've got company that doesn't wish to see the size of your hairy balls."

Mack landed gracefully on the floor and stared out into the living area of his hotel room. From what his senses could tell him, there were a good twelve vampires waiting for him.

He'd seen worse.

Slipping on his fine robe and his slippers, he casually walked out and studied them. It was a tribe, an entire one lounging in his space. Unperturbed, he calmly walked to the bar and poured himself some Scotch.

"What do they call you?" The man who had woken him asked as he lounged on his couch.

Mack took a slow sip from his drink and slowly turned to stare at him, leaning back on his bar and tasting the fine liquor in his mouth. "Judging by your demeanor, you must be a good three hundred years old. Had they no manners in Colonial America?"

Some of the vampire shifted, the tension building in the room as Mack continued tasting his Scotch.

"Oh, we had manners, boy. Those manners included announcing yourself when intruding on foreign territory," the man said calmly. "Word in the street is that Pendragon has returned to New York."

"Never heard of him," Mack replied calmly.

The man smiled, his fangs blinking. "Don't play with me. You have no chance."

"Regardless of who I am, I can assure you that I have no political agenda. I'm here for personal issues," Mack whispered evenly.

"Yeah, no one ever has any _political agendas_," the man replied. "Of course, I've been around longer than you have, and I can attest that that isn't true."

Mack simply sipped his drink and remained calm.

"So. _Mack Pendragon_," the man said slowly, tasting the name in his mouth.

"I'm not Mack –"

"Because I really wasn't born yesterday. Hell, I wasn't even born last century so I suggest you own up that you are indeed the heir to the Pendragon throne," he finished. "I mean, it's really a suggestion."

Mack finally nodded.

"Good. Now, care to tell me how you came about being all Humphrey Bogart cool, or am I going to have to beat it up out of you?" The man continued.

"Actually… if you are a Bogart lover, you'd realize that Boggie always goes in against the odds and comes out a winner…" Then he stopped himself. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn't seen a Humphrey Bogart movie in his life! He had a flash of a young girl with brown curls going on and on about Humphrey Bogart and how he was dashing and how he was a _real_ man. The flash was gone in an instant, but he glared at the Scotch in his hand. He couldn't fall the fuck apart, especially now that he needed his wits about him. _She_… he needed to rid himself of her as soon as possible.

"… But that's not the point. The point is that I leave tonight. I have some business to attend to with a human, and I'll be gone by morning light," he finished sincerely, because he honestly believed it.

The man studied him. "If you're not gone by the morning light, I, Alexander White, will personally kill you."

"That's a big threat to make to the Pendragon name. Are you sure you're willing to do that?" Mack tested his waters, smirking slightly.

Alexander stood slowly. He was much taller than Mack but that had never bothered him. He was used to people underestimating him.

"I'm tired of the bogus Pendragon reign. I _spit_ on Luther's body," Alexander said slowly, and it took all of Mack's inner strength not to launch at the man and rip out his throat. He took the insult personally. Mack made a mental note to disembody his cadaver on his way out of town.

"Well… that's a political agenda if I ever saw one," Mack finished softly, and Alexander smiled sardonically.

"Sun up… or I'll send by boys to come get you, and we'll have a real nice time, Pendragon."

Mack stood still, watching them all leave his apartment, leaving their stinking low class smell all over the fine furniture. He cursed. He jumped in the shower and got himself ready for his journey.

He pulled his best tie, a scarlet red one. There would be a blood tonight.

As he was leaving, dinner was brought for him in the form of a honey blonde. He was tempted, but when he thought about it, he would be drinking Blair's blood in a little while. He better arrive to that party starving, lest he change his mind.

* * *

Blair rocked Brenton back and forth, but the baby just would not settle. His cries were rattling her nerves, and she wondered if he was having a seriously reaction to the vaccines. He pushed against her chest, he whimpered, he screamed. His face was pink. He wanted neither bottle nor nipple. When they realized he had a fever they attempted to have him take Tylenol orally and it ended up with Dorota and her covered with it and Brenton still crying, refusing to hold it down. Blair had no choice but let her Polish maid take over and hold Brenton down as Dorota gave him a suppository which only serve to irate the child even further but at least it brought down the fever some.

He was tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He was hungry, but he didn't want to eat. He kept screaming for her, but pushed against her when she held him. She was at her breaking point. Dorota couldn't help, for he refused to go with her.

Finally, Blair had had it and asked the maids fill the tub with warm water. Removing all of her clothing and the baby's, she sunk them in the water.

At first Brenton didn't like it at all, but then he settled against her chest whimpering when she began washing the little painful dots on his chubby thighs. She pressed the warm cloth against them and hummed at him.

"Oww, Mama…" he cried softly.

She hated this, just hated it. She had no control, couldn't give him pain meds. She was helpless.

Finally, the water seemed to soothe his pain and he found her nipple, finally starting to eat. She kissed him and assured him no more pain for tonight as he watched her with wide eyes. Once filled he fell asleep on her, and she carefully lifted him up, wrapped them both in a large towel and walked to the nursery. With expertise that only a mother could have, she took his temperature again making him whimper a bit in his sleep and then she slid on a diaper and then decided on a large shirt that said "My Auntie Loves Me," which Serena had gotten Brenton some weeks ago. Blair personally found it pedestrian, but at this moment it served its purpose. She didn't want to put pants on him. Lying him down on his stomach, she slipped little socks on him to make sure his chubby feet didn't get cold and let out a sigh of relief.

She was _tired_. Tired of being so in control all of the time, tired of assuring everyone that her baby's cries didn't absolutely shake her to the core. She was _tired. _And she wanted to cry. She felt she herself had caused him all of his pain. She was a bad mother._  
_

_

* * *

_

He easily found his way back to her building and flew up to her floor. His face was intent and his thoughts were set. Kill Blair Bass; Kill Blair Bass and be free.

It was his mantra. It was working. The porch was once more turned off, so in the darkness he hid. Waiting for Blair to appear. He had to wait longer this time, so much so that he lost all patience and opened the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

There he was. In her domain. Her scent was in the room, and it was more and more intoxicating to him. He couldn't get over it; it was making him dizzy with both lust and hunger.

He looked around, admiring her taste in décor. It was elegant and sophisticated, but not _nouveau riche_. He found some pictures in frames. Mostly of the baby laughing or smiling at the camera. Then there were some who were of _them_. Of Chuck and Blair. Of Blair and Chuck. He touched one that seemed to be their wedding. He was transfixed by it, so lost in the thoughts of how the event must've been that he nearly didn't see her enter the room.

He didn't stop and consider _why_ he was hiding. But he hid, cowardly so. He was supposed to be brash, bare his fangs to her and take her then and there, but he didn't. He hid like a coward in her closet. His body molded against the darkness, but he didn't anticipate what he found in there.

He stared dumbly ahead. A long row of men's clothing was all organized and placed on full display. He blinked. Had he not been gone a year? His shoes, ties, suits, shirts, pants – all perfectly ordered. It was as if he lived here still, as if he would walk into that very closet and contemplate what he would wear the next day.

Her footsteps came more quickly, and he peered through the door. She was in nothing but a white towel, her hair pinned on the top of her head, a few tendrils wet and stuck to her skin. He gulped, and then… Then she dropped the towel, and he finally saw the _real_ Blair naked.

And he saw that it was good.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: Ok, now I can guaranteed Chair will interact next chapter :) Thank you for the reviews, I really appreciate them! The next chapter should be up later in the weekend.


	10. Chapter 10

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words."  
Anne Rice_

Blair was shaking. Even her hands trembled; she was so tired, frustrated and afraid. With unsteady fingers, she reached for her silk slip and slid it over her head, cherishing the contact with her flushed skin.

She took deep calming breaths. Deep breaths. She tossed the towel with her foot and sat at her vanity, combing her hair. She began counting the strokes. As she counted them, she began to crumble. The entire day had been an ordeal, and she had never felt as alone as she did in that moment.

With her brush still in her hair, she let out a sob. She attempted to stifle it with her hand, but her tears came forward regardless, dribbling down her cheeks. She cried softly but deeply, and flashes of memories came to her as she remembered how optimistic she was about what life had in store for her before Chuck died.

She remembered painting the nursery three times. They had thought Brenton would be a girl until her 6th month of pregnancy, after which he had indeed shown his true colors. She remembered Chuck adamantly advocating for purple and black for his son's room, which she informed him was out of the question. The sneaky bastard had the room redone in green with black trim and then _some_ purple accents when she left for an overnight trip to the beach with Serena. Which she had let slide because it had looked beautiful and perfect for their baby boy. Now she dared not change it. It had been his creation.

She wished she had never known Chuck. Never loved him. Never had him. Never experienced such horrible heartbreak. It was worse than anything she had ever felt. In times past, when they had broken up, she always had this glimmer of hope that life would find a way to place them once more in each other's path. Life seemed to agree with her, because they always returned to one another. Always. No matter the fuck ups, the misunderstandings, the lies, the pain – the epic journey had led them down the aisle because they _belonged_ to one another. She had tried to move on from him, time after time, but her heart was sold on him though her mind protested. She loved that ridiculous bastard and his loud ties and arrogant demeanor. She loved him and married him, and now he left her in the most cruel joke fate had yet to play.

Yet.

Mack's eyes dilated to a deep dark black hue as he watched her bend over, showing him a perfect view of her ass and cunt as she rummaged through her drawer for her slip. His cock instantly came to life; never had he felt it respond so quickly. It was as if _it_ knew her parts, and they were aching to be united once more. He pressed his hand against it, attempting to calm it down, which only served to make it even harder, if that was even possible.

He watched as she slipped her gown over head and let it shimmy down her hips. Those _delectable_ hips in which he longed to dig his fingers until they shaded pink. He watched as she kicked the towel lightly over the rug and then turned to sit at her vanity, combing her hair.

He watched as she combed her hair in a militant fashion, as if counting the strokes to ensure it got the treatment it needed. He was quite taken with her dedication to detachment, as if the world would damn her for falling apart.

He didn't have to wait long to watch her actually crumble right before his eyes.

He watched as her eyes widened, as the tears began to fall, as she sunk, all pride gone. She let out a choked sound from the back of her throat and cried quietly in the dark confines of her lonely room.

All thought of sex were banished from his head as he watched her painful descent. She was beautiful when broken, too, he marveled. She was a broken porcelain doll, hard as stone but even more easily shattered.

She was majestic.

He felt the _stirrings_ tugging at his chest, and this time he was so distracted by the gothic misery before him that he did nothing to qualm them; he did nothing to stop them until he felt himself _softening_ for her.

He carefully walked out of the closet, conscious of making no noise for fear of breaking such a picturesque display, and stood right behind her, watching her watch herself in the mirror. He was in a trance, a hypnotic dream that he did not want to wake from. So, without fault of his own, he slowly reached out his pale hand towards the crumbling beauty before him and gently placed his hand on her head.

She was so caught in her sorrow that she didn't feel his hand at first. So he continued, driven by the ethereal need to comfort her and have her be happy – something he never thought he would desire. And still, he wasn't questioning his decision now.

"Don't cry, Blair. Don't cry," he murmured in the softest of whispers.

He felt her shoulders instantly tense, and he quickly rushed to the shadows, hiding his visage from her before she could even turn. She was startled, to say the least, making the chair stumble on to the floor as she stood, taking deep breaths and holding her brush high as a weapon.

He felt her erratic heartbeat, pumping much-loved blood through her heart, pumping delicious life. His mouth watered despite his fear that he had _killed_ it. Killed the moment. That soft glorious moment where he could be pretend to be the ghost of her lover now past and gone.

"Who's there?" She demanded, and her voice was strong and sure, nothing like the broken woman he had just witnessed. He sunk further into the shadows by her closet.

She didn't take her eyes off the spot he occupied.

"You just made the _biggest _mistake by coming here," she declared, her voice firm and ever haughty.

It made him chuckle involuntarily, and she paused, cocking her head. The moon outside bathed the room with its soft blue glow, mystifying them, locking them in time. He wondered if he was really even there. If it was all just a dream – one of his many dreams of her.

"Don't you even _know_ who I am?" She said, her voice never wavering. He had to admire her. For someone as scared as her heart cried that she was, she gave _nothing_ away in her voice. The world would never know that she was less than perfect. But he could see right through it; he could _feel_ her imperfection. Taste it.

He was supposed to remain quiet. He was supposed to rush forward, pull her head back and sink his teeth into her pale exposed neck. Drink in her life; destroy her so that he could live. _Kill_ her so he could live.

That was the plan.

The plan obviously went to hell when he spoke.

"Blair Bass," he whispered.

Her face paled and she gulped, her heart beating even more furiously. So much so that he thought she might go into cardiac arrest. He'd seen it before in the old and the sick when they saw him and his demon visage.

"Step into the light," she demanded.

He took a sharp breath and slowly walked into the moonlight, the glow revealing his features. She stared at him, transfixed, her brown doe eyes wide as her brush-yielding hand slowly was lowered.

"Chuck…" she whispered, broken. "You're haunting me."

"Hunting is more like it," he smirked, looking her right in the eye.

She was in a trance, not moving, not breathing. He was afraid he'd killed her before he wanted to.

"I'm driving myself insane…" she continued to whisper, dropping her brush to the floor in a soft thump.

He walked another step, and she took a sharp breath.

"I know who you _think_ I am. But I can't remember you. And I'm _not_ Chuck Bass," he whispered, walking a bit closer to her, so close that finally he could feel her warm breath on his skin.

She didn't move; she just stared.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" She wondered aloud, her voice softer as a small smile finally appeared on her face. "This is the best of dreams…"

Slowly his pale, temperate hand reached out and touched her face.

Her eyes widened and, when his skin made contact with hers, he felt a shot of electricity. Fireworks running from his fingers straight into his soul.

"I came to kill you," he informed her, his voice shaky. She reached out and placed her small hand over his, sandwiching it there. It was marvelous. She obviously must've thought so too, because she closed her eyes, leaning into him.

"I don't want to wake up," she murmured.

He had her where he wanted her. She was fulfilling his every desire. He could feel her, smell her, want her. Take her.

Take her now, his demon screamed.

Make her yours.

If you so desire her, make her a child of the night so that you may have her forever. Make her your Queen, the Queen of the Night so that she may rule at your side.

These thoughts, harsh whispers and tormented words, rushed through his head.

He felt the heat of her skin, the life that she possessed, plainly against his hand. He _needed_ her.

"I came to kill you," he repeated, and her eyes fluttered opened.

Then they widened as if she were shocked that he was still there, still before her.

"Chuck?" She asked, her brows furrowed.

_Make her your Queen. Kill her. Take her now._

She was so fresh, so clean, so beautiful, so alive…

He felt his fangs elongate, taking a life of their own. In his dreams, when he had bared his fangs, she had not been scared. She had even caressed them, asked for her own pair, and let him drink from her in the most erotic of ways.

But the real Blair, upon seeing his fangs, shifted and then pulled back, stumbling backwards until her back hit the wall behind her. Her head shook from side to side.

"I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming," she murmured.

_Take her now_.

He stalked to her, and she did something she never did in his dreams. She screamed.

An ear-piercing scream that caused her knees to buckle. He was faster, and his arms captured her before she hit the floor. In his arms she lay, limp and lifeless, wearing only a little slip.

Her long hair cascaded over his forearm, the soft silk of it enticing him even more.

Outside of the room he heard voices, a child crying and a maid calling for "Ms. Blair."

Mack thought quickly. He looked down at the beauty in his arms, and then he looked at the door. He could drain her before they even made it in. Leave them to find her. The warmth of her smooth skin scorched him, scorched him like a witch would.

"Ms. Blair!"

The steps were more frantic, but the child seemed to have stopped crying.

Mack did something that would perhaps change his fate forever. Scooping the brunette into his arms and holding her against his chest, he ran to the balcony. He looked over the city of lights and, without further thought, _took_ her with him, jumping out into the night.

* * *

When Lily Humphrey stormed into the home, the police were already on the scene and so was her daughter, who was crying silently as she held little Brenton in her arms.

"Mom!" Serena cried when she spotted her.

Lily quickly kissed the baby's head; he was asleep on top of his aunt, suckling on his pacifier.

"They can't find her, Mom, they say someone most likely broke in –"

"Miss Lily!" Dorota shoved some officers around and ran to the older woman. "She gone, Miss Lily! They took my Miss Blair!"

Lily's heart beat erratically as she attempted to understand what was happening.

"Who's in charge, who can I talk to?" She demanded, moving around the room.

"I'm Detective Wright, I'm in charge of this investi –"

"My name is Lily Humphrey, and I _demand_ an explanation. I also demand that you find my daughter-in-law within 24 hours," Lily began to count off. "I will personally call the mayor, who happens to be a cousin of the missing girl's father."

Brenton began whimpering in Serena's arms, disturbed by the commotion that his grandmother brought with her.

"Mom," Serena hissed. "You're waking up Brenton."

Lily had the decency to look ashamed.

"Mrs. Humphrey," the Det. Wright began. "I understand the urgency, but we do not know yet if this is a case of the young lady running away –"

"Ms. Blair not leave the baby!" Dorota interrupted.

"She's right. Blair would _never_ leave her child," Lily nodded. "She did _not_ run away."

"Someone took her – she was on a date, wasn't she on a date?" Serena said, frazzled. At that moment, Nate arrived with his hair messed up, making Serena gulp.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, walking over.

"Blair's been _kidnapped_," Lily hissed to Nate but at the direction of the Detective.

"What –" Nate was still usually confused.

"Well, we _technically _have no –"

"Mom, please, don't say that!" Serena cried, holding the baby closer.

"When did this happen?" Nate practically yelled, glancing at Serena who carefully avoided his eyes. "_How_ did this happen? This building has the best security in all of New York."

Dorota cried into her tissue, and the Detective sighed.

"My team and I will do our best –"

"Wait a second, if this is kidnapping, then it's federal," Nate declared, and Serena's brows rose. Apparently he _was_ learning something in law school.

"Nate, could you –" Lily began, but Nate was already ahead of her.

"Yes, I'll call my grandfather, see what we can do." He swiftly turned on his heels towards the elevator once more. Serena turned to look at him and followed, rocking Brenton in her arms.

"Nate –"

"I'll send Lily an update once I find something." He stared ahead at the elevator.

"Nate, please," Serena begged, and Breton began to fuss in her arms. "Please look at me."

She watched his jaw work over his handsome face, but he didn't give in. What he did was turn and place his hand over Brenton's soft hair, caressing him slightly and smiling softly at the words on his little t-shirt. Serena's eyes watered again, and Brenton settled down, limp against Serena's chest.

"Be a good boy for your aunt," Nate whispered to Brenton, kissing his head. The elevator opened and he stepped in, letting it close behind him.

Serena's tears dribbled down her face, and she felt her mother next to her.

"You can't blame him, Serena. You practically left him at the altar," her mother reminded her.

Serena shuddered, but nodded anyway. "Right…" She shifted Brenton. "Let me put him in his crib. I'll stay the night."

Lily watched her daughter bury her nose in the baby's hair and take him down the hallway.

* * *

Because Brenton usually woke her around 6:30 am every morning, her internal clock was already set. She sat up panting, her eyes wide. It was much earlier than that.

What a dream! That was her first thought as she woke. The next was… _Where the hell am I?_

She scrambled out of the bed, hitting the floor and looking around in shock.

"Oh, God…" she whispered. She ran to the door and yanked it opened. She stepped back, realizing that she was in a grand hotel room. A dark and ominous room, but still modern and elegant.

It reminded her of…

She shook her head as she stepped out into it, taking in her surroundings.

"This isn't happening," she whispered to herself.

But just then, none other than Chuck Bass walked before her, dressed impeccably in a sharp suit and red tie and a glass of Scotch at hand.

She felt her entire world drop from under her feet. She felt herself questioning reality and dreams. Everything was jumbled, everything was wrong.

She shook her head even more as he calmly took a sip of his drink, his eyes dark.

"Try not to faint this time," he murmured, and all of the hairs on her arm stood to attention at his words. It was him. Same voice, same whispering throaty voice, same Chuck.

"Chuck…"

"My name is Mack. Mack Pendragon," he said slowly.

"Chuck…" she whispered again, coming closer.

Her heart was erratically beating, and she felt flushed. And _angry_. And _happy_. How could one have so many conflicting emotions in the span of such short time?

"You're… you're –" she murmured, still speechless.

"Alive?" He asked, and then chuckled, drinking some Scotch. His chuckle made her shiver. "Hardly. I can assure you that I'm very much dead."

"Then I'm dreaming," she nodded. "This makes sense. I'm dreaming, hallucinating because of my mini breakdown over Brenton's reaction to his vaccine, and that fact that you _left_ me," she snapped at Chuck's apparition.

He tilted his head, staring at her ramblings.

"I just need to wake up. Brenton is probably hungry, I need to wake up," she said, taking a deep breath, and then pinched the inside of her arm.

"You're not dreaming," Chuck assured her.

She turned to him cautiously and looked him over.

"I am real," he said softly and set his tumbler down. "But I am _not_ Chuck Bass."

Blair stared at him for a long while. He had the same features, same hair, same voice, same mannerisms, same Chuck. _Her_ Chuck.

"Is this a joke? Is this a sick joke?" She demanded, her temper rising. She had some thoughts on _who_ would find this amusing. "Did Jack Bass send you?"

Chuck blinked at her. "Who is Jack Bass?"

He was sincere in his voice.

"Georgina Sparks?" She challenged.

He shook his head slowly. "No."

She stayed silent, looking at him; she was becoming more and more exasperated as the minutes ticked by. Standing there before him, seeing him in the flesh and hearing him claim that he was not Chuck, was incredible. It spun her around, made her think of things that she hadn't allowed herself to think of since she had buried him.

"Chuck Bass… He was your husband, wasn't he?"

She was having an out of body experience. She felt her skin grow moist, but she didn't know if she should run or hide.

She slowly nodded.

"There are things you don't understand…" he said slowly, and suddenly she saw a bit of a shift in his appearance. She looked into his eyes, knowing she always could tell… _her_ Chuck wasn't there. He was gone. Had run away further than he had when his father died. He was vacant and lost. And then she spotted something _funny_ in his teeth.

She instantly backed away.

"You're a smart girl, Blair. I'll give you a riddle," he murmured. "How can a dead man walk and talk without actually being a man?"

"This isn't happening," she mumbled. "This is not right. _You're_ not right."

"I certainly am not," he seethed, his face turning to anger. "I have lived and _loved_ living and fucking anything that I wanted for five hundred years. Until – UNTIL –" He grabbed her upper shoulders, making her yelp. " – you _invaded_ my life. Coming to me, making me _weak_," he spat.

Blair tried to push against him, but he was _so_ strong, so very strong.

"What makes you so special, ah? What makes you so very special? So, you see, I have had no choice but to come here and _destroy_ you. Destroy you –"

"Chuck, please – you're hurting me!" She cried.

"I'M NOT CHUCK BASS!" He screamed in her face.

"OH, YES YOU ARE!" She screamed right back, and he was taken by surprise.

No one had ever screamed at him. No one.

It made him pause, confused as to what to do. They were both breathing hard, staring at one another; her breath hot and heavy, his light and cool.

"What happened to you?" She asked softly, almost whispering. His eyes darkened as he took in her face. She _hoped_, hoped that in there was the man she remembered, because if she could just get him back for a mere moment…

Without thinking of the consequences and what his teeth were implying, she grabbed hold of his face gently, like she used to when he was lost in his own demons.

"I know you're in there, Chuck…" she whispered, and he let her, his eyes wide and nearly fearful. "I know don't who or what _took_ you from me, but it's you… I'd know you anywhere. I'd know you in my sleep…"

He gulped as she caressed his face, her fingertips brushing over his cheeks.

"You love me, I know you do. You _know_ me. I know you do," she continued. "Wake up…"

He wrenched himself from her suddenly and backed away. "What are you doing to me?" He rasped, angry now.

"I am doing _nothing_," she snapped. "Stop fighting it!"

"I'm fighting _you_ –"

And then a loud gunshot was heard, and Blair jumped back, scared and shaken.

Chuck instinctively turned towards the noise, and she saw him do something she had never seen someone do. He crouched on the floor and bared his…. _Fangs_.

"Oh, God…" she whimpered. "This is not happening."

"Only three ways to kill a vampire," he cried to her. "One is sunlight. If there's too many of them, yank the curtains open. The sun is coming up. Don't worry about me. Two is with a stake –" He grabbed a chair next to her bed and yanked a leg off, snapping the wood and tossing her the broken piece.

She caught it, still stunned. He stalked to her. "You pierce it with all of your might – here." He pointed to his heart.

"Oh, you've got to be effing –"

"Three." She watched with wide eyes as he pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket. "Silver bullet through the head. You've got only two, so use it as last resort. If they kill me, use it to save yourself."

"This isn't happening –" Blair muttered, looking at the gun and the stake in her hand with absolute abhorrence.

The front door of the suite was pushed in with a loud thump, and Chuck crouched back to his position, fangs bared and eyes turning an eerie shade of yellow.

"Get into the room," Chuck roared to her. "Bar the door."

"Chuck –" Blair cried, fear eating at her gut as she scrambled to the room. "Come with me."

The door was torn opened and Blair screamed, closing the door behind her, her heart beating hard. This wasn't happening. This was not happening.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: I hope you all are happy with the interaction, I didn't want it to be overly corny ;) The new chapter should be up around Tuesday or so.


	11. Chapter 11

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

"_It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."  
Mark Twain_

Mack cracked his neck when the five large vamps slithered into his room. Five to one. Not bad.

"Gentlemen… and lady." He nodded at the female vamp staring coolly at him. From behind them, Alexander emerged, dressed head to toe in black once more.

"Mack! Long time no see, man," he greeted him and then paused, inhaling and making Mack curse silently. "I see you have… _company_."

"I have until sunup," Mack said slowly. "That was the agreement."

"Yeah, I lied," Alexander nodded, looking behind Mack at the door to the bedroom. "Man…" he chuckled. "She's breastfeeding, too. Highly delicious."

"You came for me," Mack reminded him. "My meal stays out of it."

"I'll steal your dinner like I'll steal your crown," the man chuckled back at him.

Mack smirked. "You can try."

"You're outnumbered," Alexander reminded him.

"But not outclassed," Mack said casually, then shifted and grabbed him by the neck, swinging him to the other side of the room.

* * *

Blair yelped when she heard the growling and the beginning of the fight. She anxiously shifted from one foot to the other. She didn't know what to do. She'd never felt this very helpless except when, you know, her husband had died. But he wasn't dead. Not really.

This was absolutely insane! These things didn't happen! She had woken up in some sort of alternate reality. That was the only explanation, she assured herself. Until her door banged loudly and a growl emanated from the other side. She jumped back, gun before her.

_Oh, God_, she whimpered.

Then she glanced at the thick curtains in the room and her eyes widened. The door banged again, and she swore she heard Chuck yell something to her, but she couldn't understand him over the horrible noise. She ran to the curtains and yanked them back with all of her might, but they were nailed down. She let out a frustrated groan, pulling even harder. The door finally broke open and Blair looked over her shoulder to see a hungry-looking, feral female stalking towards her.

"Oh, pretty," the woman murmured, her fangs bared.

Blair let out a frustrated scream and then, knowing full well that she was breaking a nail, yanked the curtains back and watched them fall. The thick red velvet pooled around her, letting all the sun in. The female screeched, and Blair pointed the gun at her, fully intending to fire in case it didn't work.

But she didn't have to, because the vampire let out a scream and her skin began to sink, turning a pale ashen color. Then she seemed to implode, turning into ash and falling to the floor.

"CECILIA!" Another vampire cried and rushed into the room without thought, glaring at Blair and roaring. Blair pointed the gun at him, shaking and crying. Thankfully, she didn't have to use the weapon because he let out his own yell as his skin turned ashen and he followed Cecilia to the floor.

Blair scrambled through her room's opening to see Chuck fighting off two vampires, and her mouth hung open. Chuck had _never_ been the physical type. Yes, he got into fights in school at times, but he tended to play dirty. He was actually the one getting punched, unless it involved Jack. Chuck had punched Jack a total of two times in his life, but Blair had only witnessed one. This was entirely different. This was Chuck _fighting_ – like real Bruce Lee fighting, or perhaps John Wayne.

A third vampire came up behind him, and Blair clutched at her chest in fear.

"Behind you, Chuck!" She cried, and he must've heard her because he turned and swiftly punched the vampire, sending him rocketing across the room.

One of the other vampires noticed her and stalked over. Blair backed up into the room, bathed fully in sunlight, and he stopped rushing in to observe her.

"Smart girl," he whispered.

"Come get me," she baited him.

He chuckled. "Sweetheart, you may smell sweet, but you're definitely not. I am no fledging."

Blair gulped and pointed her gun at him, her jaw set.

He chuckled and took her in, looking her up and down and winking before turning towards Chuck, rushing and jumping on his back just as Chuck had finally killed one of the vampires he was fighting.

Blair watched with horror as the man raised his fangs and aimed for Chuck's neck. She let out a scream and, without thinking, rushed forward to impale her stake in the man's back. Granted, it wasn't his chest, but it was close enough for the man to let out a cry and shove Blair backwards.

The breath was knocked out of her body as she landed on the floor, her back hitting the wall. She felt pain erupt in her elbow and let out a whimper, holding it to her. She had also lost the gun. Damn it all!

She looked up to see the final uninjured vampire coming towards her. His eyes zoomed to the blood from the cut on her elbow. Blair scrambled backwards, but she had nowhere to go. She looked around frantically for _something_, but there was nothing. The gun was too far away, the stake was in someone else's back, and she was alone.

The creature lunged for her, and she closed her eyes tightly, wanting to wake from his horrible nightmare. She kept waiting for the blow that never came.

Nothing.

She blinked, hazy and confused, only to find Chuck standing over her with ash all over his suit.

"What did I tell you?" He snapped.

"There are vampires… Oh, my God, there's vampires," she murmured, still in shock.

Chuck rolled his eyes and squatted in front of her.

"Did you kill them all?" She stuttered.

"One got away. The leader. But I believe you left him with a nice souvenir," he said calmly, his face revealing nothing about what he was thinking or feeling.

Her wide eyes took him in. Everything in him was Chuck, yet his eyes didn't soften when he looked at her; his smile didn't threaten to spill forth. It was pure, agonizing torture. To stand before him knowing he was not her husband.

His eyes suddenly zoomed in on her arm and narrowed. His eyes turned a darker shade, and she gulped, holding her arm closer. It was not a large cut, but it was bleeding – and he looked hungry.

"C-chuck…" she whispered pleadingly.

He didn't respond.

"My name is –"

"Chuck!" She snapped.

He growled and grabbed her, lifting her up, letting her feet dangle above the floor as he growled angrily. "I. Am. Not. Chuck. Bass."

She stared right back at him defiantly. Perhaps she was being naïve and stupid, perhaps she should've kept her mouth shut, or perhaps she should've shot him and ran back to her home. But she had a _chance_ of getting her Chuck back, and she was going to take it.

"Let me get this straight. You come find me when I'm not even looking for you to destroy me in order to destroy the old you? How does that make sense?" She cried. "How does that make sense when _I_ was the one who was destroyed when you died and _left_ me. AGAIN!"

Now she was angry. Who did this bastard think he was? She was attempting to cope with life without him. It had been a year, and suddenly he comes out of nowhere, all vampiric and wanting to kill her? This wasn't happening the way he planned it.

"I WAS FINE –"

"I don't understand how a little bit of dreaming could've possible ruined your life!" She interrupted, now righteously pissed off.

He blinked and studied her.

"But it did," he whispered shortly. She nodded, but then quickly shook her head when he studied her neck. "And I'm going to end it."

"No – no, Chuck!" She pleaded, struggling against him as his vice-like grip held her in place.

"You _smell_ so sweet…"

"CHUCK! CHUCK, STOP! The baby, Chuck – NO!" Blair clawed at him the best she could, but it didn't stop his fangs from sinking in to her neck.

She paused, taking a deep breath.

Chuck and she had shared some seriously intimate moments. Erotic moments filled with passion and love. Moments filled with tenderness and sweetness. Sad moments filled with tears, hate and forgiveness. Soft moments filled with understanding, acceptance and friendship.

But _never_ had she felt something like this. At first there was pain, a short pain like the first time they were together. Something she had to get through in order to find a better place. A much, much better place.

The feeling of his fangs _in_ her was more lascivious than anything she had ever felt. She felt her toes curl, her skin prickle, her nipples harden, chills run up her spine and her hands instinctively buried themselves into his hair. She moaned deep in her throat, pulling his face to her neck, _wanting_ it.

She thrust her pelvis at him, humping his rock-hard cock.

It had been too long, way too long. It had been a lifetime.

"Chuck…" she moaned, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, a smile playing on her face. Pleasure washed over her as her inner walls suddenly contracted and, without warning or stimulation, she came hard, losing her breath and shaking.

And just as suddenly as he had bitten her, he dropped her.

* * *

"Sisi."

A little voice piped in and woke her. She groaned, realizing she had fallen asleep in an odd angle on the chair in Brenton's room.

Serena shifted and opened her eyes to see her nephew standing in his crib and looking at her with confusion, tear tracks lining his cheeks. His dark hair was mussed, his little shirt was missing, and his diaper looked heavy and sodden.

"Mama, Sisi?" He asked for his mother.

Serena stood and slowly went to him. He raised his little arms for her to pick him up, and she complied, kissing him loudly on his sweet cheek. He squirmed a bit, but then lay his head on her shoulder, sighing.

"Sisi," he murmured her name as best he could.

"Good morning, baby." She rocked him.

Since Chuck's death and the death of her own always complicated love life, Serena had basically found her rebirth in Blair's own crumbled life. Serena basically lived with Blair, for lack of a better term, and coddled her nephew as much as Blair would let her. "Sisi" was the fun person who tickled him and got on all fours on the carpet, making silly faces at him that caused him to squeal with glee. She was the one who bought him more things than he could possibly use. Playing with him often made her think about having a baby of her own.

But her decade-long quadrangle between three men had left her exhausted and more lost than she had been when it began. She already had a divorce under her belt (tequila and Carter had led her to that) – and the perpetual back and forth between Nate, Dan and Carter had driven her to break her engagement to Nate and flee with Dan only to have _that_ crumble and end up once more on Blair's doorstep with tears and regrets. Blair, desperate to consume herself in something other than her grief for Chuck, had taken her in, allowed her to stay and let her participate with Brenton's rearing. They were, after all, sisters and each other's true love. But Blair had been lucky in always knowing what she wanted. Serena envied her in that respect. From the moment Blair realized she loved Chuck, she didn't look back and didn't doubt that he was it for her. Chuck was the same: he loved Blair and only Blair.

Serena, though she never said it, _longed_ for that type of assurance. She always let doubts cloud her mind, she let kisses mean things they shouldn't and let sex sometimes just happen when it shouldn't have happened. Sex with Dan two nights before her second wedding had left her confused and unsure, and she had left poor Nate alone without an explanation. That had blown up in her face when Dan confessed he himself was engaged. In Tahiti. That had just led her back to New York to Blair's arms as she cried her heart out. Which had also led her to a drunken night to Carter, who was married himself, and that just made her realize that her life was absolute shit.

And now she had so many regrets that they filled up the entire room.

So she had sworn off men, except for the gorgeous fellow in her arms right now, whom she loved as if he were her own.

But she wasn't a mother, and a mother was what the baby needed. Blair was still nursing him, for Christ's sake!

"Mama –" Brenton began, scrunching up his little face in anguish.

"I know, baby, I know you want your mommy," Serena appeased Brenton and set him down to change his diaper, which only served to anger him. He surely had his mother's temper, Serena thought, despite being a mirror-image of Chuck.

"Miss Serena…" It was Dorota who popped in to the room.

Serena took a deep breath and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Any word?"

The maid looked at her sadly. "No. No word. But Mr. Nate here."

Serena gulped and paled. The maid knew all too well about her woes; she had listened in to nearly all of her breakdowns.

"I send away?" She asked.

"No… he might have news," she said, and left the baby for Dorota to finish changing him. She rushed down the stairs to find Nate, his back straight and his hands tucked into his pockets. He turned at the sound of her steps, and his face was as blank as last night.

She took a deep breath. "Well?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I've informed Lily, who has headed to the Mayor's office to see what she can do. Eric lands in a bit, and he's going to use his FBI connections to see if she was taken out of the country. Eleanor and Cyrus are on their way, and so are Harold and Roman."

Serena nodded, knowing that Clark – Eric's good boy/friend and FBI agent – might be able to help.

"Ok…" she whispered.

"How's the kid?" He asked.

"Asking for his mother," she replied, eyes downcast.

He sighed. "I can look after him for a while, let you get some sleep."

"No… I can't sleep, I'm too worried," she confessed.

"I used Chuck's old PI to look into Blair's date… He came out clean," he explained. Nate barely ever mentioned Chuck anymore. It was hard enough for both of them to watch what had become of Blair after his death, and even worse to consider that Chuck would never come back. That his little boy would have to grow up without his father the way Chuck himself had to grow up without his mother.

"I'm scared, Nate…" she confessed. "It feels like something is wrong."

Nate shifted and looked away from her. She knew she had no right to ask for sympathy from him.

"Yes, she's missing. That's pretty wrong," he deadpanned, checking his cell phone. "I have to go. Priscilla is waiting downstairs for me. I will come back in a few hours to talk it over with Lily."

Of course. _Priscilla_. Blair and she had made fun of the little mousy brunette that Nate had picked up after the fiasco a few months ago. She shouldn't be jealous, but she was. Priscilla was the opposite of Serena. Straight-cropped, bland brown hair, glasses, no makeup, conservative clothing… Basically, a pre-law student with an obnoxious squeaky voice. She knew she was being selfish, but there was something in her that made her want to scream at the girl that he was _her_ man.

"Right…" she murmured. "Ok… I'll just –"

"I'll see you later, Serena," he interrupted and walked out, catching the elevator down.

Well… that was the longest conversation that they'd held since the almost-wedding. She sighed, sinking into the couch, lost in her thoughts until the baby was put down on the floor by Dorota and came waddling to her. He sported a big smile on his face and threw himself over her stomach. She let out a laugh and picked him up, blowing raspberries on his exposed tummy and making him giggle and grasp her hair.

"No, no, Sisi!" He laughed loudly.

At least he was a good distraction.

* * *

When Chuck came to his senses, he realized his _fangs_ were buried inside of Blair's neck. It was as if someone had smacked him awake. Turned on the light. Shaken him, shoved him, pushed him over an edge he didn't know he was standing on.

Whatever they did, it worked.

He suddenly knew his name.

Knew his address.

Knew his telephone number.

It was a rush, an avalanche of thoughts that assaulted him all at once. He gasped and all of his memories flew through his mind as he let go of Blair and she crumbled on the floor. Her blood was churning in this mouth. Sweet and decadent.

He remembered asking her to marry him, he remember her saying yes, he remembered how crazy she got planning their wedding, he remembered how crazy he felt when she told him she was pregnant, he remembered loving her, having her, having a family. He remembered Lily, Eric, Nate, Serena and even Cyrus' hugs and jolly happiness. He remembered the swell of pride in his chest when Harold told him he was proud of him the day they announced their engagement. He remembered it all, and it was both horrifying and exciting at the same time.

And then there were the other memories.

Dark ones.

Empty ones.

Oozing with death and despair. With malice and evil.

He stumbled back, his back pressed against the wall, knees buckling as he realized what he had planned to do. He had planned to come back and _kill_ Blair and his son. His own child.

He felt out of breath, gasping for it as if he were a dying man.

And then he remembered the crash. Asking Luther to save him, to let him live for Blair and his son. He remembered wanting to go through the storm, wanting to defy God himself. It left him begging for death from the devil himself. But the devil had refused to kill him and instead made him into a twisted, dark creature.

He felt nauseous and lurched forward, clutching at his hair, wanting to yank it from the root.

He had _hunted_ Blair. Hunted her to kill her.

And he had succeeded in hurting her. He stared at her body through watery eyes. She was moving slowly, but he had certainly taken quite a bit of blood.

He couldn't live with himself; he couldn't live with the thoughts that had festered in his mind. He just couldn't. Knowing full well that Blair had opened the curtains in the room and that sunlight was shining inside of it, he made a rash and bold decision.

It took Blair a moment to wake herself from the orgasmic haze that Chuck had put her under. Her nipples were still tingling, her walls were still contracting and shuddering in pleasure. But the pain in her neck slowly made her shake herself off. She felt _weak_. Like she had felt after Brenton was born. Like life itself had been shaken out of her. She moved slowly and painfully, trying to sit up, trying to see where he was.

She pressed her hand to her neck, feeling blood dripping and running down her chest. She gasped as she saw Chuck stalking with purpose to the room from which she had yanked the curtains.

"Chuck!" She cried weakly, reaching out to him. "No, the light –"

She saw him pause; there was conflict within him. He shifted his feet with a confusion that she couldn't place.

"Chuck, please –" she begged.

"I hurt you." He whispered it so low that she was surprised she even heard it.

Her chest constricted as he turned to face her. There were tears running down his face. And his eyes… She gasped as he slid to the floor once more, staring at her.

They stared at one another, and her heart sped up as she realized that _her_ Chuck was back.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: this chapter gave me hell so I hope you all enjoy it =) I know a lot of you have asked how much more to this story and I'm thinking about 10 more chapters, perhaps less, I'm still on track according to my neurotically drawn-up plans. Also, because of family suddenly dropping by I may not have a new chapter until the weekend. Sorry, guys!


	12. Chapter 12

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

"_The hottest love has the coldest end."_

_Socrates_

She moved slowly and then crumbled back down; feeling like jelly had taken over her legs. She closed her eyes, sighing.

"Chuck…" she whispered, her hand still reaching for him.

He stared at her blankly, unable to move.

"Chuck, please…"

She watched through hooded eyes as he reached for a phone in his pocket and, with a shaking hand, brought it to his ear.

"Get an ambulance to room 1478," he murmured and then tossed the phone, still staring at her. "I can't go near you, Blair." His eyes were still an eerie color, his fangs still elongated.

She sighed, closing her eyes. Her body felt like it was swaying in a hammock, so she lay back on the ground, her hand falling limply to her side. Her neck hurt, her elbow hurt, her breasts hurt.

"Keep talking to me, don't fall asleep," he urged her, and she heard the trembling in his voice.

"Give me your hand…" she pleaded, attempting to reach out to him. She just needed to touch him, to feel him. To assure herself that this wasn't a dream. A concoction of her imagination.

"I can't… I'm still hungry," he explained very softly. "I'm controlling myself."

She let out a cry of despair, her mouth opening silently. "You're alive…"

"I'm not." He stared at her, still cloaked in darkness, not moving.

"You are. I can see you," she whispered.

He was silent. She felt his eyes on her, as if he were counting the minutes silently.

"Do you know what I just tried to do?" He asked her, his soft voice lulling her.

"You… my neck…" She tried to stop the droplets of blood from falling.

"Yes…" He nodded. "I tried to kill you. On purpose."

"You didn't know –"

"Don't make excuses for me, Blair!" He suddenly yelled, thumping his head back harshly. "Do you understand how _fast_ I could kill you?"

It was a bit painful to swallow because her throat was so dry, but she did. "I'm thirsty."

"I took too much. Your body is hungering for blood. At this point, I would usually feed you some, and you would turn," he said dully.

Turn. Her brain whirred to life, going over and over the possibility of his words. The harsh meaning behind them. The horrible truth embedded in them.

"The baby…" Was all she could think to say. Her baby was by himself. No father and now no mother - she felt her soul quake at the thought. Her soul was screaming against the possibility.

"You're dehydrated… They'll give you fluids and Vacotin," he whispered.

"What?" She murmured, her brain feeling fuzzier by the minute, her eyes tightly closed. As if she was having an internal conversation with his memory.

"Vacotin. Used to treat vampire victims. A hospital's dirty secret. Stops the infection," he explained.

"This isn't real…" she whispered, now understanding that this was a horrible nightmare induced by stress.

"No… it's not…" he finally agreed, and she heard voices in the room, other people entering and leaving it.

She felt herself being lifted and placed on an uncomfortable bed, and she swore she heard Chuck's voice telling her it was a dream. All a horrible dream.

And then she fell asleep.

* * *

"Why did you bring him?" Lily asked her daughter exasperatedly when Serena arrived with an alert and curious Brenton in her arms, with Dorota following dutifully behind.

Brenton spotted his grandmother and instantly lit up.

"Nana!" He cried, launching for her and making Serena nearly drop him.

"Oh, my big boy!" Lily cried as she deftly caught him and hugged him close.

"Where is she?" Serena demanded, her face flushed.

"They just admitted her. They're performing some tests to make sure she's alright, but from what I understand, she just has some blood loss from some cuts on her neck and arm," Lily replied, rocking the baby.

Serena let out a sigh of relief, and Dorota shed some tears of joy.

"Where did they find her?" Serena asked insistently.

"I don't know, someone apparently called the paramedics when they found her," Lily explained, turning her head when she saw Nate and Eric running down the corridor towards them.

"They found her," she assured them. "She seems OK."

Eric let out a sigh of relief, and Brenton violently screamed for him, demanding to be picked up. Nate took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair while Eric complied with the child's pleas.

"Is she hurt?" He asked, his brows furrowed. "I mean did they… you know…?"

Lily gulped. She hated to think that anyone had violated Blair. The thought itself made her sick to her stomach.

"I don't know," she admitted, which made Dorota whimper into her tissue and Serena blanch. "But she's alive and she's home, and that's what matters. We will make sure she has everything she needs."

Nate nodded.

"It's good you brought Brenton. She'd want to see him first," Eric added.

"I agree," Serena countered her mother's wishes.

They all sat down except for Nate, who began to pace. Soon Eleanor, Cyrus, Harold and Roman all arrived at the same time and it became chaos as Lily, Eric and Nate attempted to reassure them everything was OK. It didn't work, so Cyrus had to use his connections to get an unofficial word on Blair.

It seemed Blair was stable but the blood loss had left her weak, so a blood transfusion had to be performed on her. Once she was awake, her parents would be able to see her.

"The baby shouldn't be here, he could get sick," Eleanor protested as she watched her ex-husband lavish the baby with kisses and smiles.

"My dear, he's such a healthy baby –" Cyrus pleaded.

"I agree with Eleanor," Lily interrupted hastily.

"I couldn't leave him with the nanny, you know Blair doesn't trust anyone but Dorota or family with him, and even then we're not exactly her number one choice," Serena defended herself. They could all at least agree on that. Serena finally walked away from them in a huff, and Nate beat himself up at being unable to let her go on her own.

She banged the palm of her hand on the coffee machine that had stolen her 75 cents.

"Here." She jumped as Nate came up behind her and handed her three quarters. She looked from him to his hand and silently reached out for them.

"Thanks," she murmured, choosing the horrible cappuccino and holding it in her hands once it was done.

"She's going to be fine," he told her quietly. Why did he always have to be so nice? It made it impossible to feel good about herself.

"Nate, you really don't have to talk to me. I know I don't deserve it, I know I've messed up countless times, I know I've hurt you. Overall, I'm a mess. So you don't have to talk to me," she said in one breath, looking away and yearning for an exit strategy.

He let out a humorless chuckle. "This isn't about you, Serena. It's about Blair. We're all that's left of the non judging breakfast club, and I'd like for that to at least remain the same."

She turned and looked at him. "You're right. I'm sorry. Again. Sorry."

His eyes softened, taking her in, but Eric came around the corner before he could reply and interrupted them. "She's awake," he said quickly, and the other two followed him without preamble.

* * *

When Blair woke up, she felt like someone had punched her square in the face. That was the size of her headache. She groaned and looked around. She was in the hospital. Her thoughts instantly went to Brenton. Was he OK? Had they been in an accident? Where was her baby?

And then she remembered… _Chuck_.

She gasped, her hand going to her neck, finding a bandage there. She cringed at the pain in her arm, which was also wrapped in gauze. She shifted and looked around into the empty room.

"Chuck?" She whispered, but found she was alone. All alone. Fumbling, she located the button for the nurse and pressed it hard, over and over. Finally, a plump and happy nurse came in with blinding white teeth and dark skin to ask her how she was feeling.

Blair demanded to see her baby, and the nurse explained that she couldn't nurse for a few days, especially with all the drugs in her and her recent blood transfusion. Blair ignored her and demanded to see her child again.

The first people that arrived were her mother and father, who had Brenton in his arms.

Breton, spotting his mother, let out a loud wail that broke Blair's heart as he reached out his little hands for her.

"MAMA!" He sobbed.

"Give him to me!" She begged them.

Her father and mother helped tucked the baby into her side as she kissed him and assured him all was well.

"Mama," Brenton whimpered as he cuddled to her chest, wanting her breasts much to Eleanor's horror.

"Not now, baby, not now," she explained, kissing his lids. Her father quickly handed her a warmed bottle, which the baby suckled on furiously, his little eyes never leaving her face as he assured himself that she had not disappeared again.

Her heart hammered furiously as her parents asked her over and over what happened, to which Blair explained that she couldn't remember. She was honestly starting to question if what she remembered had actually happened.

During their questions, Brenton fell asleep on her chest, sniffling softly into her scratchy hospital gown.

Finally Serena arrived, and Blair was attacked by a crying mass of blonde hair.

"Oh, B!" She sobbed on Blair, startling Brenton and making him cry also.

"Serena, calm down. I'm fine!" Blair insisted, rocking Brenton as much as she could. Her father helped by giving Brenton a fluffy stuffed bunny, which the baby quickly grabbed and claimed as his own.

"We thought we'd lost you!" Serena sobbed softly, holding her hand tightly, her eyes wide and fearful. "What happened?"

Blair blinked at her. She knew the moment she told them that she thought Chuck was not only alive but was a _vampire_, they would all think she had lost her mind. And she couldn't blame them. _She_ thought she had lost her mind.

The rest of her family kept filtering in and out. Dorota sobbed harder than all of them combined, and Eric and Harold had made her take a Xanax, which helped considerably. Lily even tried to take the baby, making him scream and causing the hospital staff to think that he was being murdered. So they left him on top of Blair. Serena planted herself next to Blair and refused to leave her there alone, until the night came and Blair watched the TV blankly on mute with Breton sleeping softly on top of her. Serena had read a stack of magazine and theorized with Blair about Nate until Blair couldn't handle it anymore.

Her thoughts were scattered. At any other time, a Nate talk would have served to distract her from the gaping hole her heart had become. This time, it served to annoy her. Annoy her because she couldn't get out of her mind that Chuck had bit her. That Chuck was alive, and that it wasn't a dream or a random kidnapping.

She groaned; nothing made sense, and she was seriously beginning to think that nothing ever would.

* * *

When Chuck woke up, he stared at the ceiling for a good hour before slithering out of bed.

He felt like a stranger in his own skin. He felt like a nobody. He had stayed awake until he could confirm that Blair was stable and recovering, and that the family was with her. Then he had given into his natural instincts and let his lids drop with exhaustion.

He was hungry. Not _starving_, but hungry enough. Hungry enough to not be around people lest he begin feasting on them. He stared at the mirror over and over and willed his reflection to appear.

No reflection.

He was a ghost. This was his punishment.

He took off his shirt and stared at the large scar on his side. He'd gotten shot once for her – or in his mind, it had been for her. The pain had been unbearable.

This was worse.

He'd willingly get shot over and over again to erase this horrid pain in him.

Five… hundred… years.

His mind started remembering that she lived and died without him, that his own son had gone mad… It was too much. Made him crumble. Made him vomit.

The vomit was pink. A light shade.

Blair's blood.

He vomited again, his hands shaking, his thoughts racing. Who was he? _W hat_ was he? His thoughts tormented him for the next few hours until he felt like running, running until the sun found him and he evaporated. Died. Like he was supposed to originally.

Perhaps he _was_ dead. Perhaps he had died on that plane, and he was stuck in some sort of limbo. In a place created purely to torment him. Perhaps this was all a horrible nightmare. One from which he wished over and over to wake.

And then his phone rang.

"Pendragon," the man on the line greeted. It was the personal assistant provided to vampires in the hotel.

He furiously wanted to snap that he was _not_ a Pendragon, that he was actually Chuck Bass, but he needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to be smart about this and not rash. He knew vampires, and he knew the precarious situation in which he had just placed Blair. He needed to focus on making sure she and his child were fine before he decided to rebel against the Pendragon name.

"She's awake. Anything else, sire?"

Chuck swallowed. "No. That will be all."

And so he dressed himself, finding a certain sick satisfaction in the way his suit perfectly fit his body. He stared at the hospital from the inside of the limo, the small note in his hand indicating her room number. His family could easily recognize him, so he needed to keep an extremely low profile. If someone saw Chuck Bass walking the halls of a hospital, it might make six o'clock news. He couldn't have that. He couldn't do that to Blair, especially not after what he had done.

He had the limo pull up to the back of the hospital and, using all of his 500 years of experience blending in, he made his way past hospital security to her floor.

He stared at the waiting room and found Eric and Harold asleep on the uncomfortable chairs. He smiled ruefully at the two men; they were there for Blair like he had hoped they would be. Harold even had a small blue whale on his lap for his son, he assumed.

His _son_. His heart sped up at the thought of hurting him.

"Nate?" A familiar voice called behind him, and Chuck instantly slunk into the shadows. It was Serena. He watched her walk up to Nate, who held two cups of coffee in his hand and was staring at his general direction in confusion. "Nate, what's wrong?"

Chuck watched the exchange carefully. Serena had just walked out of Blair's room.

Nate blinked, and finally turned to look at his ex-fiancée.

"I… never mind, I think I'm sleep deprived…" he murmured, but Chuck heard him clearly. Shit. He was sure Nate had seen him, at least from behind. Chuck held his breath, hoping his friend thought it was a hallucination.

"I told you that you didn't have to stay," Serena assured him, and Chuck instantly noticed that there was something _off_ about the way they interacted. It was not the comfortable relationship it had been when he last saw them. They had been dating for the past two years, getting engaged a couple of months back.

Nate turned and coldly regarded Serena.

"I'm here for Blair and the baby," he snapped at her, and it made Chuck's brows rise.

Serena grabbed one of the coffees from his hand, without replying to his statement. "Well, she's asleep, and so is Brenton."

Nate glanced once last time towards Chuck's direction, then stalked over to join Eric and Harold in the waiting area. Chuck watched as Serena sat herself next to her brother, making him stir when she lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Nate sat across from her and stared. It was an angry gaze. He also noticed that his stepsister was most certainly _not_ wearing a ring. Of any kind.

He wondered what had fucked them up this time. Regardless, this was his perfect opportunity. He silently crept himself into the darkened room, sticking to the shadows. His senses felt _her,_ and he paused. She was awake.

He was immobilized by what he saw.

There was she was. All in white with a little boy asleep on her chest. He watched as she smiled at their son with a look he had never seen on her face.

Despite all that had transpired, she was OK. She had her son and she loved him, and that made her complete.

Her bandaged arm was raised, and she combed back the hair that fell on the baby's forehead. There was a soft humming sound coming from her throat.

That was it. There it was. What was meant to happen. What never came to pass.

He swallowed loudly, and her head instantly popped up. He saw her immediately cover her baby as fast as she could with her pale arms.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. Her eyes were wide and beautiful, just like he remembered.

She didn't relax, just stared at him, eyes wide but lips set.

"Or the boy," he finished.

She shook her head slowly. "You're dead." A tear dribbled from her eye and down her cheek. He longed to read out and clean it with the back of his hand, but he didn't. He stood his ground.

Afraid… Afraid of what would happen if he got even remotely close to her. If he got even remotely close to them.

"I am," he confirmed.

"Why are you haunting me?" She asked softly, closing her eyes, resting her head back against her pillow.

He moved slowly around the room, his body still bathed in darkness.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," he said, his hands aching to go to her. Seeing her there, so tiny and pale on a bed, knowing he had placed her there. The guilt ate at his gut. He had truly become a monster incapable of love or redemption.

"I'll live…" she murmured, studying him.

He slowly nodded. The last time he had seen her in a hospital had been in her junior year of collage. They had a huge falling out, and she had taken to purging her food like she had in her younger days. He had found her on the tile of her bathroom and rushed her to the hospital. When she woke he begged her, begged her with all that he was, that she never hurt herself this way again.

She had looked frail and pale then, and he was sure it was because of him that she had landed in that bed. Now it was no different. Now it was more real.

He swallowed thickly. "I have to leave."

Just then Breton decided to wake up, pushing himself up on his chubby baby arms and looking in confusion at his mother. Blair blinked a few times, as if waking herself up from her dream, and looked down at her baby.

"Mama?" He asked, tugging at her hospital gown.

Chuck watched his boy with keen interest. He had his same dark, straight hair, same sharp brows, same pale skin – but he had his mother's nose and lips. Chuck could tell. A pert little button nose and bow-shaped lips. He was handsome, he thought. He tried to jog his memory to remember how Brenton looked when he had met him all those years ago in Paris, and he had to admit there was a resemblance.

"No, baby. No milk now," Blair explained, combing back the baby's hair and kissing his forehead.

Brenton's lashes were long and thick, and they feathered over his cheeks. "No?" He inquired with his tiny voice.

Blair shook her head and sighed, turning to Chuck's direction. Chuck could tell from her eyes and that she didn't expect him to still be there. That she had expected his apparition to disappear. When she found him there once more, he and his stoic pose made her jump slightly, her eyes widening.

"Chuck?" Her voice was strong and sure.

Brenton, the curious little child, turned his head to see what had captured his mother's attention, and his little eyes squinted to take in Chuck.

"Dada!" Brenton said, crisp and clear, causing Chuck to turn and look at the boy with wondrous curiosity. "Dada bye bye!" He smiled brightly at Blair, but Blair continued to stare dumbly at Chuck.

"Chuck?" She repeated again.

Chuck's senses went on hyper-drive when he felt footsteps approaching the room. He turned his head and Blair tensed, noticing his change of demeanor.

"I have to go. The Bryant Hotel. Penthouse," he said quickly, and she nodded, still dumbfounded.

"Dada bye bye!" Brenton waved his little hand at Chuck's retreating form.

All that Blair could do was swallow thickly when Serena entered the room, telling her she heard voices.

Brenton smiled brilliantly up at his aunt. "Sisi, Dada!"

"What?" Serena asked, confused and clearly perturbed.

Someone had once said that seeing was believing, and now Blair had seen and believed. She didn't know how Chuck had survived, or the implications of him being alive. On one hand, he was in trouble and had stayed away from her in order to protect her, which she could see him doing. On the other hand, there was the bite on her neck and the situation she had discarded as a strange dream. Because what widow didn't wish that somehow her dead husband would come back from the dead?

Wasn't this what she had wished for in those months before the plane had been found? What she dreamt about in the back of her mind? What she prayed for?

If the horrible implications were true, and she could consider for one wondrous moment that her husband was now a vampire and had come back… Would it not be the same as if he were dead?

He would live forever, if the tales were true, while she aged and lived her human life. What if he lost control again the way he had done that morning? What then? Brenton would be left without a father. Without a mother. She couldn't do that to her baby. She couldn't place her child in such danger.

How about those _other_ vampires? The ones that had blatantly tried to kill her. Would they hunt her child now? The thought wedged itself in her throat. She would kill for her baby. She would do it without hesitation.

She should just forget this entire thing. Just forget about it. Tell no one. These were obviously visions. Obviously the deluded dreams of a desperate woman.

Yet… Could she go back to her normal routine knowing that there was a _chance_ that he was out there? A chance that he might be hers again? That they could rebuild the family and life they had sought to build? With that last question, Blair shook herself out of her self-reflection and glanced at Brenton.

"Get me the doctor, Serena. I want to check out. I want to go home. _Now_."

* * *

Chuck ran. Ran all the way to the Bryant hotel. Vampires didn't sweat, so he was fully dry. Vampires didn't get nervous, but he was shaking. Vampires didn't love, but he knew he loved his wife. He loved his child. He was a miserable creature without them.

He wished this had never happened. He wished that he could've remained oblivious to all of this. When he was just Mack Pendragon, none of these thoughts weighed down on him. None of these thoughts and dreams and regrets haunted him.

Now he knew there was something _more_. More than just fucking and hunting and being a Prince. Life, he now knew, was comprised of tiny building blocks that all stacked up on top of one another to create a beautiful mosaic. Without certain blocks, the structure would crumble and fall. Without certain blocks, the structure would be hollow.

Blair had always made him better; before her he was nothing. He was a drunk, bitter kid with too much money and too much anger. But she had looked at him with those chocolate eyes of hers and just _seen_ that there was good in there and, because she saw it, he began believing in it. It took years and tears, but he had found this relatively good person inside himself who was not only in love but was _worthy _of love. Worthy of her love and her kisses and her life.

And now… seeing what he had done as Mack… He was tainted once more. He was a dark creature compared to her. He was dammed, and his curse would bring her down, too.

His thoughts darkened. He needed to keep them safe. He knew Blair, and he knew she would seek him out. She would want to make sure he was real and, when she did… He'd have to hide her, because once word got out that he was attached to a human, it was only a matter of time before Luther would want to destroy her.

And he wouldn't let that happen. Even if he had to die to save his family, even if that was his last redeeming moment, he wouldn't let Luther destroy them.

He was certain of it.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: Thank you all for the reviews, I read all of them, and I appreciate your comments :) I should have the new chapter up by Monday/Tuesday!


	13. Chapter 13

**Soulless****  
**_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult."_

_Anne Rice_

"Blair!" Serena huffed behind her, Brenton propped on her hip as he sucked furiously on his pacifier. Ahead of her, Blair rushed into the home, heading straight to her closet. "Slow down, B!"

Serena followed Blair into her room, setting Brenton down on the bed. The baby crawled to the pillows and buried his face in them, his butt sticking up in the air.

"Where are you going?" Serena demanded, her hands on her hips as she stared at Blair, who was yanking a dress from its hanger.

"I need to head out, Serena. Can you please look after Brenton?" Blair said breathlessly as she dropped the dress she was currently wearing and fixed her bra.

"You've just had a blood transfusion!" Serena cried, horrified. "You can't go out!"

"I need to, S. Please don't make me explain," Blair pleaded with her. She kept her eye on the time. It was nearing 1 AM; she needed to get to the hotel Chuck was staying at, and soon. She slipped the new dress over her head, wincing when the material yanked back the gauze on her neck. "You know I wouldn't be leaving if it wasn't important."

Serena stared at her in astonishment, and Brenton chose that moment to let out a shriek. He was sleepy and wanted attention from his ladies, who seemed to be too engrossed in one another to pay attention to the baby.

"You were kidnapped…" Serena tried to explain calmly.

"I was not," Blair defended.

"You said yourself you don't even remember." Serena pointed at her neck. "You got hurt!"

"S, you've got trust me. I have to do something." Blair insisted.

"No!" Serena cried, picking up Brenton as he began sobbing, he was so sleepy. He rubbed at his eyes furiously and his face turned pink.

"Listen," Blair snapped back. "I have sat back and watched you mess up your life, year after year, man after man – and I haven't forbidden you _anything_. When you came to me and told me you had married Carter, you know Chuck and I did all we could to make sure you came out unscathed." Blair slipped her pumps on angrily.

"How about when you were dating Dan – again – and realized you had feelings for Nate that never went away? How about then? How about when you broke up with Dan in a note, and he came storming in here, asking for you? Granted, Chuck enjoyed all too much informing him that you and Nate had run off to Bali, but that is beside the point." Blair took a deep breath, grabbing Brenton and rocking him, but her eyes were still hard on Serena.

"And may I remind you how only a few months ago, you came to me and told me _once_ more that perhaps Dan was the one you were meant to be with. What did I do? I lent you the Bass jet so you and Dan could frolic in the sun, while I had to tell Nate that there was going to be no wedding. Then you show up a week later in tears, regretting it all, and I take you in," Blair huffed, and Brenton pressed his little face to her neck, screaming his lungs out.

Serena's eyes were wide as Blair continued.

"I'm asking you to trust me," Blair said more calmly. "So please do." Then she turned to the baby and talked softly to him, pepping him with kisses until he calmed down. Serena watched her, pale and frozen as she walked the baby to the room and settled him down in his nursery.

When Blair finished tucking Brenton in, assuring him that all was well, she came back to her room to find Serena sitting in her bed, her legs tucked in under her. She had made her cry. Blair sighed, feeling bad already about airing out all of her business.

"I'm sorry, S…" Blair whispered.

Serena simply stared at her. "I envied you, you know…"

Blair paused, staring at her oldest friend. "What do you mean?"

Serena swallowed thickly. "I _still_ envy you… even with Chuck dead… I envy you."

Blair stared at her, watching as fresh silent tears trickled down her face. Her heartstrings tugged and she slowly sat next to Serena, their shoulders bumping next to one another.

"You… always knew what you wanted. Even when we were young. I envy that," Serena nodded, wiping at her tears almost angrily. "You knew where you were going, who you loved, and how things would end –"

"Things did end," Blair reminded her, her own throat becoming thick. She and Serena hadn't spoken about Chuck in a long, long time.

"I know… but it's like…" Serena looked around the room, gesturing with her hands. "It's like he's still here. His presence is still here. Sometimes, I still think he's going to walk right through the door."

Blair's own tears threatened to spill as she looked at the wall before her. It had black and white photos of her family in tasteful black frames. Not too many, but just enough.

"Sometimes Brenton does something that –"

"Reminds you of Chuck?" Blair finished for her, a sad smile on her face.

Serena nodded, her eyes wide. "It's like you _know_, you know he loved you, more than anything. You were more important than anything, and only you and… I've… I've never really had that."

"Nate…" Blair started.

"I've fucked that up, B. I've always fucked that up," she whispered, playing with the cuticle in her nails.

"You think Chuck and I didn't fuck things up all of the time?" Blair asked, shoving her slightly with her shoulder. Serena chuckled, tucking a wild hair behind her ear. "We did…" Blair's eyes got misty. "But somehow… we _always_ found our way back to one another."

Blair saw him. She saw him coming to her the night before, waking up in his hotel room, his fangs. He'd come back to her. Back from the dead. Half alive. He would _always_ come back to her.

"That's why I have to go…" Blair finally whispered, almost to herself. Her determination getting the best of her.

"What do you mean?" Serena asked, confused, staring at Blair like she had lost her mind.

"S…" Blair struggled for a moment, trying to find a ways of explaining this without sounding like a crazy person. "I have to tell you something. A secret."

Serena turned her body to face Blair, looking over her. "What is it?"

Blair gulped, grasping at Serena's hands. "I think… I think Chuck's alive."

Serena's heart froze for a moment, and chills went up and down her spine. "W – what do you mean?"

"He's the one that took me. I was with him. He called the ambulance. He came to see me at the hospital –"

Serena's eyes widened a bit. "Blair… Blair, Chuck is dead, honey."

Blair nodded. "He is… I think… no… I'm pretty certain that he's… you're going to think I'm crazy."

"I can't imagine where I'm getting that idea from," Serena said breathlessly. "You obviously have some traumatic stress that has induced some sort of hallucination. You felt like you needed him, so you've conjured up his image –"

"No –"

"Blair, listen to yourself!" Serena let go of her hands and began pacing back and forth.

Blair thought quickly, and then remembered her neck. She softly pulled the gauze back, the gauze that hid the two tiny dots. "He was the one who bit me."

Serena stopped and stared at her. Blair couldn't read Serena's face. She was usually so easy to read, but the mix of wide-eyed horror and pale shaken skin was something she had only seen once before. It was a fateful night when Serena stumbled into her home, still a teenager, and confessed that she had killed someone.

"Oh, God…" Serena whispered.

"I know this sounds crazy," Blair said, standing up.

"Yes, it does!" Serena cried, looking at her with pure horror.

"But he asked me to meet him tonight."

"Oh, Jesus…" Serena murmured.

"So please, please stay with Brenton. Please." Blair pleaded. "I need to see him." Her voice cracked. She _ached_… ached to hold him in her arms. So before Serena could respond, Blair pulled away from her arms and ran out, grabbing her coat and purse along the way.

Serena stood still, staring at the empty bed before her. The bed Chuck and Blair had shared for many years. The same bed where Blair had let her cry on her shoulder. The same bed the girls had cuddled Brenton when _he_ cried.

The bed was now empty. Vacant. All it held were memories.

Serena shook herself off and grabbed her phone out of her purse her and, with shaking fingers, dialed an all too familiar number.

"Nate? Nate!" She said urgently.

"Serena?" He asked and, at the sound of his calm voice, she started crying. She vaguely heard him sigh on the other end.

"Nate… something's wrong. Something is _really_ wrong with Blair…"

* * *

He didn't expect her to come. Not tonight. Not now. She should be at the hospital. She should be in bed. She was still weak. Granted, that medicine would give her a lot of adrenaline. That was mostly what it was: a huge adrenaline shot so that the body wouldn't begin to shut down, and it seemed to work against a vampire's bite.

So when he was informed that she was on her way up to see him, all he could think about was what would she say.

Would she ask him to leave her and the boy alone forever? If she did, would he be able to handle that? All these thoughts and possibilities ran through his head, shifting back and forth, making him grasp blindly for Scotch. He couldn't blame her. He wouldn't. If he was trouble as a human, he was the worst sort of news now. He still had to hide her. Whether she wanted it or not. That in particular was not up for discussion.

He heard her heels click the moment she stepped through the door. He held his breath and turned around, and there she was.

And just like _that_, all of his resolve to stay away from her evaporated. She was stunning. And he loved her. It was as simple and as uncomplicated as that.

His eyes zoomed into the scarf around her neck, and she clutched at it with her glove-covered hand.

"Prove to me that you're real. That I'm not crazy," she said quickly, not moving an inch.

Slowly, he nodded. He set his Scotch down and calmly walked to the small bar. He shed his jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He rolled up one of the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his extremely pale skin. He turned to look at her as he picked up a small paring knife from a drawer, brandishing it in his hand. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. With determination, he quickly sliced his arm, right by his elbow. She gasped quickly.

"No!" She cried, her little feet moving to him, grasping his arm in her hand. She stared at him with wide eyes. "What are you –"

"Shh…" he soothed her, making her look at his wounded arm. And there before her, the cut that bled angrily began to slowly close, slowly heal until suddenly, it was no more. Her hand trembled as she pulled off one of her gloves and reached out with the pad of her manicured finger to touch his skin.

The contact of her skin with his made him sizzle. Made him remember so many things that were more easily forgotten in the predicament they currently found themselves in.

Realization registered in her small face, and he watched with something akin to horror as her face crumbled, her knees crumbled and she sat dumbly on the floor. He slowly knelt before her.

* * *

Blair studied the lovely wood grain on the posh floor below her. It was tasteful. It was gorgeous. She would've picked out the same. Chuck and she had a penchant for the same things; when they had finished decorating their home, it had been featured in a special section of Vogue a month later. They had posed in their new home while she wore a specially made Waldorf original, and he dressed head to toe in Prada.

They had posed in the kitchen, in the library and in the closet. It seemed fitting. He had grown annoyed with the photographer, who continued complimenting her breasts. They had grown at an unusual rate since she had just found out she was pregnant.

In the article, she had said ,"It's good that we decided on more rooms when we purchased the place, the next phase of decorating should make way for the new Bass." She had been all smiles that day, happy in her center. She was the center of the New York universe, and now the world filled with fashion obsessed women would know her. Would want to be her. This filled her with immeasurable happiness. That and Chuck's constant hand on her lower back, rubbing it with concern. He didn't smile in the photo, but when her mother saw the spread she mentioned that 'Charles looks quite happy, doesn't he?' And she was right. Charles was happy. They were happy.

And now he was dead. And walking. Haunting her.

Blair was a smart girl, she had read just enough books and watched enough movies to have a vivid imagination and, at times, to live in that imagination.

At the sight of what Chuck was confessing to her, she began to see a future much darker and bleaker than she had seen that day of the Vogue photo shoot. It was a future cloaked in darkness. A future that held nothing but despair in its wrinkled hands.

No matter what happened from here on out, she had truly lost her husband.

Even if he stayed with her the rest of her life, it would be a half-life. Never could he accompany her and Breton on a lovely afternoon in the park. Never could he attend his own son's kindergarten graduation.

No lovely summer vacations in Martinique, or lazy mornings in the Hamptons, no croquet matches, no breakfast or brunch at Balthazar, no walks in the setting sun at her father's vineyard.

It was gone. Taken from her. Ripped from her hands.

He would remain eternally beautiful and young while she sagged and weathered away, fading before him. She felt her heart constrict. She was losing him all over again. It was taunting her.

And what if one day he got really hungry? Would he kill people in front of her? Would he unwillingly hurt Brenton? Hurt _her_?

involuntarily, tears trickled down her face as she looked over his features. It was such a deception; he looked so normal. So fresh and alive.

* * *

Chuck Bass knew her. Knew of her questions and of her concerns.

"It's a long story. You might get bored," he said calmly. "It's not a happy one."

"I still want to hear it," she replied after a while. "I still want to know."

He slowly nodded, sitting on the floor before her. "After… after I hung up the phone that day…"

He watched as she gulped slowly.

"I was warned that there was a storm… I was offered an alternative route, but it would make me be late to New York," he continued.

"Why didn't you take it, Chuck?" She demanded. "Why?"

"You know why… So we flew through the storm. I knew the moment it happened that I was dying. That… I would never get to know my son…" he whispered, and she buried her face in her hands. "When I woke… I was pinned under the rubble."

"Oh, God…" she whispered, staring at him.

"I was… dying… There was so much _pain_." He got lost in his own memories as she watched him. "That's when it happened."

She was silent, willing him to continue. "Vampires… We can sense that level of destruction for miles and miles. The scent of fresh blood… It's intoxicating. It calls to us."

A tear dribbled from her chin and landed on his hand. It was hot and searing.

"That's when Luther found me," he whispered.

"Luther?" She asked, her ears perking.

"Luther Pendragon. My maker. My… _father_ …" Chuck attempted to explain exactly what Luther meant to him.

"He killed you!" Blair exclaimed.

"I was _dying_ Blair… I was… I was fading –"

"You don't know that! He didn't give you a chance!" Blair snapped, pink and angry.

"I asked for it," he finally said, and she went silent. Her eyes wide and her makeup nearly nonexistent.

"I asked for it. The pain was too much. I asked for it," he confessed.

He stared at the ring on her finger. Still vibrant. Still alive.

"So… I forgot all about my life. All about you or the baby… or Chuck Bass," he licked his lips. "I lived… for five hundred years."

"What?" Blair exclaimed, glaring at him.

"Just listen," he explained, reaching out and grasping her hand on instinct. "I lived for five hundred years. I _met_ Brenton when he was older –"

"This is complete crap! You've been gone a year!" Blair tried to pull her hand away, but his strength was more than she had ever known. It was inhuman.

"A witch… I stole a spell from a witch," he whispered.

She shook her head in denial, her jaw set. "Stop it! Now there are witches, too?"

"Yes. I stole it, and I came back here… to… Well, I didn't know who I was, Ok? I thought by… _destroying_ you, I would be able to be the Prince I wanted to be," he said, ashamed of his actions.

"Chuck… I think I really am going crazy." She nodded vigorously. "I think I'm hallucinating. I think I've just completely lost it."

"No." He cupped her lovely face in his strong hands, brushing her tears away with the pads of his fingers. "This is real."

He felt her gulp against his skin; he felt her shift. They were so close.

"I started dreaming about you. You came to me, beautiful and pure and brilliant…" he whispered, coolly against her lips. "I dreamt of doing this…" He kissed her softly.

He felt her pause, but then she cracked, giving in and burying her hands into his hair, pulling him to her. Their tongues tangled together – wet, passionate and strong – and he swore she had never tasted sweeter.

They pulled back, staring at one another, her eyes dilated with lust. Reaching slowly toward the small bandage on her neck, he felt her stiffen.

"Shhh… I'm not going to hurt you. I'll _never_ hurt you again," he assured her, his voice thick. She trembled slightly as he carefully pulled back the small surgical tape, hissing softly.

"I'll never hurt you again," he repeated as she stared at him with wide eyes. She trusted him. He didn't know if he should shake her out of that or bask in how amazing it felt to be trusted by her. It had always felt amazing to be trusted by her. Even in their younger days. He remembered her full brown curls and haughty lips. And she still trusted him.

He stared at the bite mark he had left on her throat. Two angry scars stared at him. He had done it. And he was going to remove it.

Carefully, he scooped the drying blood from his arm and pressed it onto her skin, causing her to make an adorable grossed-out expression.

"There is too much blood in our love now," she commented dryly, and he smiled unwillingly. He then realized in that very moment that he hadn't truly smiled for hundreds of years.

The blood did its job and, slowly but surely, the angry wounds on her neck dissipated into a tiny white scar.

"Does all vampire blood do this?" She asked quietly, patting her neck. He nodded slowly and then took her arm, pulling back to gauze on it, but pausing when he realized she had two small stitches on it. They looked angry and swollen against the beautiful paleness of her skin.

"That wasn't you," she assured him. "It was that thing I attacked…"

He swallowed.

_That thing…_

He knew he was a thing, too. He wasn't human. He couldn't join her and the baby for walks in the park, or pose for magazine spreads. He was a half-man, and that shamed him more than ever.

"Hey…" she whispered, cupping his face this time. He slowly looked at her as she came closer and kissed his cheek, as she had often done in the past to comfort him. "I love you… I _hate_ that this happened, but at this moment, I'm just glad that I finally have my husband back."

He stared at her. She was so beautiful. She's _always_ been. He'd been lucky she had forgiven him time and time again. She could've ran off, been with another guy who would've never done this to her.

"You didn't do anything this time, Chuck. I know you," she continued, petting his face. "I know you're blaming yourself. Please don't."

He pressed himself towards her, leaving his forehead with hers.

"Chuck…" she whispered, and then captured his lips, softly at first, then more demanding.

He pulled back, grasping her hand. "Come here." He stood her up, walking her to his bedroom. She paused when she saw a _coffin_ in the room.

He shifted nervously. "It's just in case. When traveling… It can get dangerous if someone pulls back the curtains."

She nodded slowly, holding on tighter to his hand. He opened up the large doors to his moonlit terrace. Blair gasped.

"Believe it or not, the Pendragon name has more connections than the Bass name ever did," he explained, winking. "Luther used to roam America before Columbus."

* * *

Blair watched him as he told her everything, touching the lovely plants in the garden with the tips of her fingers. And then she looked at him bathed in moonlight. She _ached_ for him. Ached to feel his skin pressed firmly against her breasts. So, without warning, she grasped him and kissed him again.

She kissed him more passionately than she had ever done. Because it had been so long, so very long since she had felt loved by him.

She remembered the exquisite feeling that she had felt when he had bitten her, and her inner walls begged for it, unbidden. She didn't know where the desire came from, but she sought it desperately.

* * *

The plan was… There was always a plan, and these plans had a tendency to fall through the cracks more and more. Her mere presence took him out of his orbit. Shook him up, made things muddled in his brain so that he couldn't think straight.

Five hundred years can make a man hunger for his wife; for her love; for her soft skin. And then, when he couldn't handle it anymore, he grabbed her, running his hands under her dress, up the back of her legs and cupping those fabulous ass cheeks of hers. She moaned deep in her throat, arching back. It awakened something so deep and spiritual in him that his emotions lifted them off the floor and suddenly, they were floating in the air.

"I'll fuck you while flying, baby," he whispered huskily to her, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. As if she was still hoping that she would wake and be able to shake this fantasy from her skin, from her thoughts and needs.

Needing no more encouragement, she wrapped her legs around him and held onto him as he took them from the porch to the top of the building, to the top of the world. Resourceful thing that she was, she reached between his legs and unzipped him, nearly making him loose his balance. She pulled his hard cock out and, never breaking eye contact as the wind trashed around them, imbedded herself on him.

It was as if time had stopped and the universe had finally made sense. There, thick inside of her, he pulsated, letting her tightness speak to him more than it ever had. As a human, she felt fabulous. As a vampire, he felt the very beating of her heart though his cock. He felt life in her. She touched his face, clenching and unclenching her inner muscles, rubbing her ass on his balls.

"Blair…" he whispered, his throat raw. His fangs, outside of his control elongated. She stared at them curiously, but it did not diminish her lust.

"Fuck. Me. Hard," she said slowly, bouncing a bit on his cock.

_With pleasure,_ he thought.

She clawed at his back in desperation, feeling him deep in her, relishing him once more. His hands fumbled under her shirt, yanking the bra and watching the strapless thing float in the wind. Then he grasped her breasts, her nipples pebbling in his nimble fingers.

It wouldn't take long for him to come; it wasn't like they were having deliberately slow sex on silken sheets. This was a desperate coupling; one filled with lost years, loads of regrets and even more passion.

"Bite me," she encouraged, exposing her neck, her eyes filled with lust. He had heard that the vampire bite was one of the most euphoric experiences ever. And he had already given her such pleasure. Though he wanted to, though his inner demon screamed for it, he didn't. She mewled and asked for it, but his lips simply attached themselves to her neck and his mouth massaged the little scar he had made there, the vein under her skin lulling him, effervescent against the muscle of his tongue.

She came nonetheless, and when he was satisfied that she had come hard despite the chill of the wind on her bare ass, he joined her, spilling himself in her, thrusting and yelling out her name to the night sky.

She clutched him, limp in his arms, as he slowly lowered them. Like fallen angels, they floated down until he landed softly on the porch floor.

"We've _got_ to do that again," she chuckled lightly against the skin in his neck.

* * *

To be continued

AN: There, no cliffhangers, but there's a lot of craziness coming up :) Thank you SO much, guys, for reviewing, the new chapter should be up towards the end of the week!


	14. Chapter 14

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"Keep your secrets. Keep your silence. It is a better gift than truth"_

_Anne Rice_

He shifted in the plush bed and found her on her stomach, staring at him, her eyes half closed in the thick night.

"You're awake…" he murmured, sliding closer to her, molding his body against hers.

"I can't sleep…" she confessed, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. He leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder, feeling her skin prickle against his. "I'm afraid this is all a dream."

He nuzzled his nose against the side of her face and shook his head. "It's not," he assured her in a whisper. "It's not."

"Why didn't you bite me?" She murmured silently, and he cocked his head. "When I asked you. Why didn't you?"

He traced her fine neck; it was as if it were always lulling him. "You were too weak. I took too much last time."

She gulped. "I'm sorry," he felt the need to say.

"Why did you remember?" She asked.

He studied her face, her beautiful face. "Your blood… It's the most powerful thing to me. Because I love you. The witch believes this has never happened before. I hate to think I'm _that_ special."

"You are to me, you know…" she whispered and turned into him, holding him again and pressing her ear against his collarbone, her breast pressed against the hairs on his chest. She buried her hands in his hair like she always did, and he explored her bare back with the tips of his fingers. He found her waist, her hips and the delectable curve of her pert ass.

He'd been with many women while he was alive. He'd been with many, many more after his death – but none felt as sweet and as rich as she did. She was decadent. A buttery dessert that melted in his hands. "I love your skin," he murmured into her hair.

"It's pale," she stated matter-of-factly.

"It's perfect," he assured her. "I could touch it all night and not tire of it."

She turned her head, and he looked down to stare at her. "You feel a bit different," she confessed, grasping his arms, and his insecurities instantly flared up. He was never insecure in his own skin like she was, but he was always insecure that she would one day realize she was too good for him. He never told her this, but he had a few dreams when she was pregnant. He dreamt that he messed up their relationship and marriage beyond repair, and he would come home from work to find her gone and the nursery empty, the baby's smell still lingering in the room. He'd wake up shaking, pulling her swollen body to him and holding her tight. She always thought that he dreamt of her dying. Yet somehow her purposely leaving him and taking his child with her hurt more than her death.

He was a selfish bastard that way. If she was alive, he needed her with him. And that was that.

"Different meaning I'm dead?" He inquired, looking away, far away from her face and what it meant to him.

"No…" she said softly. "I don't like to think about that." She turned his face, making him stare at her dark orbs. "You're alive to me. That's what matters. That is what will matter to your son."

His son.

The longer he thought about the baby, the more he ached to hold him. His own little boy. A tug, sharper than anything he had ever experienced, pulled at his chest.

"Tell me about him…" he whispered into her skin.

A lax smile came to her lips, and he felt her visibly relax. "He's perfect. He manipulates his way into my bed each night."

Chuck smiled, imagining the small baby commanding Blair Waldorf.

"He's got the only temper. It's either his way or the highway," she continued. "He's very attached to me and Serena and, of course, Dorota."

"A man should always handle his women well," Chuck said, staring down at her.

"And he does. He's got his grandmothers eating out of the palm of his hand. Even Cyrus falls under his charm, Eric and Nate are great with him and even Rufus buys him these god-awful flannel shirts, which I have Dorota donate to the homeless," Blair explained, and Chuck felt a sudden pang in his chest. He'd missed it. He'd missed Blair ordering flannel baby wear to be burnt, Cyrus hugging the baby until he cried, Nate being left to babysit for the first time and Eleanor doting on her grandson.

"Of course, Daddy and he are the best of friends. He's even bought matching outfits for when he and Roman take him out on a stroll," Blair continued, and Chuck had visions of the gay couple in summer whites with his son perched in their arms wearing a matching outfit.

It should've been him.

It should've been him with a matching sweater vest and hat, his small son in his arms as they attracted the attention of all sorts of women in Central Park while Blair glared angrily at them.

It should've been him.

He turned from Blair and stared out at the window into the starless night. His own life was slipping from his fingers. Many parts of it already gone and unattainable.

"Hey…" Her arms wrapped around him, and she pressed herself fully to him. "Let's go see him. Let's go now… Just because you've missed _some_ stuff doesn't mean you have to miss _everything_."

She knew him so well; she could read him like a well-worn open book she'd read a hundred times before. She pressed her lips to his shoulder, warming the patch of skin there.

"How did he know who I was?" Chuck finally asked, never moving, never leaving this spot.

She was silent until he finally turned to look at her. "Come with me and I will show you."

* * *

The home was eerily quiet when Blair opened the door to her home; she figured that everyone was already asleep. Chuck was meeting her in her room, so she tip toed there but paused when she saw the nursery door open. He was standing there, an odd figure in a room full of pastel colors and toys scattered on the floor. The big, bad vampire looming over the baby. She couldn't detect any emotions on his face, no indication of what he was feeling. He was just studying the child. She came in and slowly closed the door behind her, making him jump and look at her.

The small night light lit their features, delicately unearthing a celestial sort of glow throughout the room.

"He's asleep," Chuck whispered, as if it were the most absurd thing in the world.

"It's 4am, Chuck," she whispered back, looking over the crib. Brenton was sleep on his stomach, sucking his thumb, covered in his favorite yellow blanket. She reached down and touched his small ear, making it twitch and the baby's brows furrow.

"No, don't wake him," Chuck whispered to her, coming closer.

"It'll be fine," she assured him, slipping the blanked off Brenton and slowly picking him up. The baby protested some but promptly snoozed again once Blair placed his head on her shoulder. She watched as Chuck stared at the baby unabashedly.

* * *

Chuck watched as Blair picked up his son and held the baby on her shoulder, rocking him slightly. The boy's little mouth parted and drool dropped onto his mother's dress. He could hear the baby's soft humming heartbeat. His long years had taught him that there was nothing as innocent as a child's heartbeat.

He'd seen many babies before, and touched some. He never fed from them. To him, the younger a human, the 'greener' they tasted. Like eating a banana when it had not yet ripened. It was the same when feeding on an elderly person. The banana was now _too_ ripe and tasted old. The feeding should be done from someone who was the _right_ age. This was one of the many reasons Chuck had never understood Luther's taste in humans. It always felt like he fed from things that were not yet at their turning point.

"Do you want to hold him?" Blair asked him, her dark eyes studying him in the night air.

His heart jumped slightly in a near panic. "No," he said quickly. "I'm not ready."

She didn't say anything, just shifted the baby and made him stir.

"Let's go to the room," she murmured, and he nodded, following her. He stayed close to her, unable to leave her side from fear that she would disappear. He watched as she carefully placed Brenton in the middle of the bed and scooted in quickly next to him, turning her eyes to Chuck.

"Come here," she encouraged him and, slowly, Chuck walked to the other side of the bed. He shed his jacket and shoes and slipped into the bed, watching the son stir slowly. Blair ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his little ears and cheeks.

There was such warmth in the scene before him that Chuck felt like an intruder. He felt like an outsider, a boy being read a story before bed.

The baby slowly woke, blinked his little eyes and looked right at Chuck. Chuck watched him with utmost curiosity as the baby slowly rolled himself towards Chuck, sticking his thumb in his mouth and studying him. He reached out with his other little hand and touched Chuck's face.

Chuck froze, feeling that lovely touch of innocence on him. Unafraid, and with such trusting purity.

"Hello," Chuck finally said, unable to think of anything else to tell the child.

Brenton pushed himself up on his little elbows and rolled over to sit up and stare at Chuck.

"Dada," he repeated what he had said before, and Chuck felt something tugging inside of him.

"Yes, baby, that is Daddy," Blair finally broke into his thoughts, and Brenton stared at her and then back at Chuck.

"Dada," he told Blair, as if explaining to her that he had found him. "Mama, mi Dada!"

Blair laughed lightly and grabbed the baby, peppering him with kisses. Chuck watched, still feeling like an outsider as Blair's openly displayed her affection for their child. Chuck sunk closer to the bed and stared at the baby.

"How does he know me?" He asked Blair, and Brenton turned to Chuck, his eyes bright at seeing his father once more. He went to Chuck and grabbed his hair.

"I show him your picture each morning. He's very smart," Blair smiled, prying Brenton's small fingers from Chuck's hair.

"Mine!" Brenton protested to his mother, and Chuck couldn't help but smile. His son definitely took after him.

He watched as Brenton rubbed his eyes sleepily. "He's tired, poor thing," Blair whispered.

"I told you not to wake him," Chuck protested, but Blair simply grabbed the baby and set him on top of Chuck. Chuck stared at the baby and he stared right back, but he slowly set his little head down on his chest and sighed happily.

* * *

Blair stared at Brenton studying Chuck, and she felt she was watching a small mirror scene. Brenton looked much more like Chuck than she had ever admitted to herself. The same dark, straight hair, the same complexion, eyes and stubborn nature.

She watched in awe as Brenton, sleepy as he was, slowly lowered himself on top of Chuck and sighed contentedly. Chuck had a look of pure panic on his face. She wordlessly reached out and showed him where to place his hands, cradling his small head against his chest. Brenton promptly stuffed his thumb in his mouth while staring adoringly at his mother and began to fall asleep.

"You're so good at this, Blair," Chuck murmured to her.

She smiled sadly. "I've just had more practice than you have, that's all." She scooted herself closer to him. He was real. He was here, and he was holding their son. She loved this moment. She would treasure it. Always. Here, warm in the bed, their little family together at last. Something she had thought she would never get to see in this life or the next.

"Mama…" Brenton murmured, and she kissed his forehead.

"I'm here, baby boy," she whispered, and Chuck watched her with unblinking eyes. "Stay… if only for awhile."

"I'll stay," he finally acquiesced, and there in the deep night, she and her baby fell asleep. His words resonating in her inner thoughts.

_I'll stay, _he said.

* * *

Chuck couldn't sleep, not only because he was a vampire, but because this felt like someone had just shoved him down a rabbit hole. It was there that he realized that, no matter what happened, he could never really be part of their life. When he was awake, they would be asleep. When Brenton came from school upset over something, he would not be there. When Blair felt overwhelmed in the mornings, he wouldn't be able to pitch in and help. He was perpetually locked out of his own life.

And there was only one person to blame for all of this.

Luther.

Anger, the seed which he never thought he would have against his maker, planted itself in him - and the water it needed to grow would soon come knocking at his door.

For who was Chuck Bass if he was not attempting to plot something?

He was so lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't hear the elevator chime. His body tensed and Brenton shifted on him. His ears perked up and he felt a female enter the home. If his sense of smell was correct, it was Serena and her overly fruity perfume. There were also others with her. He quickly took his son, after holding him for another brief moment and savoring the feel of his innocent body, and set him in the bed next to Blair. The baby instinctively curled into Blair and she wrapped her arm around him. He stared at the two most important people in his life for a moment before he slunk out of the room just in time. He saw Serena peek into the room from the other side of the door and realized Nate was with her.

"We'll talk when she wakes up," he heard Nate say as they closed the door behind them. Chuck waited; he still had a few more hours before the sun made its way to the sky and took his family away once more. So he went back into the room, locking the door carefully.

This woke Blair, who sat up and stared at Chuck.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Serena and Nate are here… maybe some others…" he whispered, coming to her.

"Are you leaving?" She asked, and he felt all the fear carefully etched in her voice. He shook his head.

"Not right now. I can stay awhile," he nodded and kissed her gently. She tangled her hands in his hair and lulled him back into the perfect life that they _could _have had.

* * *

When Blair woke, she felt instantly alone. She _knew_ Chuck was gone. The sun's rays burned into the room, reminding her of life beginning anew. She felt so incredibly torn inside. She knew that she was playing a game in which someone was bound to get hurt.

On one hand, she desperately desired Chuck to be back and he was… in a way. How like Chuck! Always clauses with him, never easy or simple, always complicated. It's what made her love him. Chuck being back meant that Brenton would know his father, would love his father and be loved by him. She would have her husband, her other half.

Yet… part of her felt that this could easily turn into a disaster of grave proportions.

She glanced down to see Brenton curled into a little ball under her arm, his hair in disarray, all stuck to his face as his little toes curled. She smiled and kissed him a few times, making him stir.

A soft knock was heard at the door, and Blair looked around quickly to make sure no sign of Chuck was left. There was none. He knew well how to cover his tracks.

"Come in," she said after clearing her voice, and she was surprised to see Nate pop his head in.

"Hey," he said softly.

Blair shifted a bit, untangling herself from Brenton and walking to Nate.

"Hey," she replied and hugged him quickly, walking out with him. "Where's Serena?"

She instantly noticed he was nervous. Her eyes narrowed. Her friends really did underestimate her and often. Only Chuck had ever really noticed how sharp she was.

"She's –" Nate stuttered. "Well… she's here."

And as they rounded the corner, she was stunned to find her entire family there. Staring at her. Serena, Lily, Eleanor, Harold, Roman, Cyrus, Eric and even Rufus. Dorota was glaring at them angrily, and that was when Blair really knew something was really, _really_ wrong.

"What's going on here?" She snapped at them.

Serena came forth, her hands up. "B… we need to talk…"

Her mother, not enjoying the pacifist in Serena, stood up abruptly and stared at Blair. "Blair, what is this about you thinking Charles is alive?"

Blair looked on incredulously at Serena. "S!" Her heart hammered in her chest, unable to believe that Serena would spill her secret.

"I was worried!" Serena cried, looking rightfully guilty and nervous.

"She should be – Blair, this is _insane_!" Her mother nearly yelled.

"Now, my dear –" Cyrus tried to step in.

"Blair, I just don't understand where this is coming from. You were doing _so_ well!" Lily said in her most disappointed voice.

"Nothing is certain, she's just had a very traumatic experience. This is most likely a consequence of that," her father defended her, standing up.

"He's right, we don't know what she went through while she was kidnapped," Eric stood up with Harold.

"I was not kidnapped!" Blair cried indignantly.

"Then where were you?" Her mother demanded. "You're gone for hours and hours, and you're found wounded and in need of a blood transfusion!"

"I was –"

"With Chuck," Serena finished. "You said Chuck _took_ you."

"This is ridiculous, Blair. Listen to us," Lily said, gravely concerned.

"It's obvious that, like Harold said, something happened." Rufus spoke up. "She just needs help."

"Ok, that's it. Everyone out!" Blair snapped. "Out of my house, and that includes _you¸_ Serena!"

Nate came up behind her and placed a hand without warning on her shoulder. "Blair – please –"

But Blair, still so shaken up from fighting vampires and being attacked by her family, elbowed Nate on instinct as hard as her small frame could, making him drop to the floor, gasping.

The entire place was silent as they all stared at her in shock. She knew she had messed up. Blair Waldorf had _never_ been violent like this. Never to her friends. She felt her hands shake, and all she could think was that if they all thought her to be crazy, they would take Brenton from her. That thought alone make her panic, and realize she needed to back up a few steps.

"Nate… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

But all she saw from Nate's face was a clear "you're not well". She gulped thickly.

* * *

Tearing himself from Blair and Brenton had nearly split him in half. Leaving their warmth and love was overbearing, and he felt that it would be the last time he ever held them, would ever be part of them.

But he had to go; he had only minutes before the sun came and locked him in with her, risking everything. So he jumped on his limo, which had been waiting for him, and rushed up to his room before the rays could deter him.

The moment he locked the door behind him, he knew he was not alone. And he knew who was waiting for him.

He felt his blood run cold, and all the peaceful thoughts that had been with him since Blair had come back into his life flittered out of his mind. He knew it was coming, but actually living it was a complete different thing. Like a naughty child caught by his father.

"My childe…" Luther's voice came to him before his visage did.

There was Luther seated regally before the fireplace, staring darkly at Chuck. It was as if he'd never come to New York. As if he were in Italy once more, under his master's dominating presence. It was moving back home with one's parents after living on your own. It was asphyxiating.

"My, my, how you've grown," he said.

Chuck shifted. His instinct was to bow before his master, but there was a rebellious streak in him. The new anger he felt towards his maker sprouted roots at that moment. He _refused_ to kneel.

He was Chuck fucking Bass, and he wouldn't bend over for anyone. _Anyone._

Luther smiled a wide, malevolent smile. "Have you met Alexander?"

Chuck turned and, out from behind Luther strolled Alexander, another sick smile on his face.

"Oh… Me and the little Prince go _way_ back."

* * *

To be continued

A/N: And the next bit should be here around Tuesday, thank you so much for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Soulless****  
**_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"Suppose death had a heart to love and to release you, to whom would he turn this passion, would you chose a person from the crowd there. A person to suffer as you suffer."_

_Anne Rice_

The one thing that Chuck could count to his advantage was the fact that Luther knew very little of his real nature. Mack had more or less done what was asked of him, even if behind Luther's back. He had always plotted and enjoyed the chaos his devious behavior caused. But Chuck… Chuck was a whole new animal. And he was _sure_ he could outsmart Luther.

What Luther wanted was his devoted, dotting childe back. His little Prince that he could use to his advantage. And that was _exactly_ what Chuck was going to give him. No matter what, he had to keep in mind the goal – and that was to get Blair and Brenton to safety. If he knew Luther at all – and he did – he knew he would try to crush him. The easiest way to crush him was gunning for his family.

"Master," Chuck bowed down and deep, his nose nearly touching the carpet.

Luther chuckled darkly, and Chuck instantly knew that something was wrong. "No need for theatrics, childe."

Chuck instantly stood still, ignoring Alexander and staring directly at his maker. He wasn't sure exactly where Alexander stood. Had it not been merely days before that he had spit on Luther's name? The easiest way to remove Alexander was to instill doubt in Luther's mind about Alexander's loyalty.

"I do not blame your curiosity, childe. I honestly don't," Luther laughed softly, bringing a glass filled with wine to his lips, and Chuck watched as his tongue expertly judged and silently critiqued the wine. "I always said it is better to have some curiosity over an insignificant thing than none at all. Gives a man character. Substance."

Chuck nodded, looking straight at his maker.

"Stealing the potion was risky, childe. I should know. I did the same thing. Very risky…" Luther reprimanded him. "Nearly heroic."

"I'm no hero, sire," Chuck responded quickly, the mere thought of even being considered one burnt him because he knew _exactly_ what he was capable of.

Luther chuckled, drinking the rest of his wine. "No… you're not."

Chuck shifted, unsure of where to go with this conversation.

"Do you want her, childe?" Luther finally asked, after pondering over a thought. "Is this your wish, childe?"

Chuck swallowed and stared at his maker. "_Her_, sire?"

Luther slammed down his drink, making a filled goblet that stood next to it shake precariously and the wine threaten to spill over. Chuck flinched. "Are we playing games now?" He snapped.

"No," Chuck answered tersely.

"Then I ask again. Do you want her?" Luther's eyes were blazing hot, and Chuck could feel the waves of anger radiating off him.

"I've had her already, sire," Chuck admitted. It's not like he could hide it. If he could still smell the scent of coupling in the room, then so could Luther and even more distinctly. He would especially know his own childe's aroma.

"Of course you have, childe," Luther nodded. "But I am asking… do you want her? Would you like her as a companion? She must be pretty special to make you go through such acrobatics to have her."

"I admit that I was… fascinated with her, sire," Chuck nodded, careful with his words. "I admit that my hunger for her was… fanatical… But now that I've had her… it is over. I ask for no companion."

Luther quietly studied him and then finally stood, tall and regal, before him. "Leave us," he snapped to Alexander.

"Sire!" Alexander cried, indignant.

Luther turned his head sharply and growled at him, so low and dangerous that it scared even Chuck. Alexander fumed for a minute before storming out of the place.

Chuck turned and looked dead on at his maker. A glimmer of hope passed through him. His sire believed him. Luther, one to firmly reject the notion of love, would never understand Chuck and his love for Blair. He wouldn't think that her blood would be powerful enough for anything because, in his eyes, love was an overrated luxury. A fable of sorts. That her blood could not only counter a spell but also give him strength was more than Luther would ever accept or understand. And that particular fact Chuck _had_ to use for his advantage. His love for Blair was, once more, his saving grace.

Luther placed his pale hands on Chuck's shoulders and looked at him directly in the eye.

"You don't _care_ for her?" He whispered, and Chuck thought that he made it seem like caring for a human was more horrid than anything "Mack" had ever done. Chuck swallowed, but kept his wits about him.

"No," he ground out. "I swear it."

Luther cocked his head and patted his childe's face. The sun was high in the sky, and he could feel the sleep clinging to him, lulling him to bed. He couldn't control that; it was part of his nature, and to deny it would be futile.

"I'm very angry with you, childe." Luther said, still close to him. "So angry I came to kill you, but I see you now and am reminded why I turned you in the first place."

Chuck's thoughts ran back to that night when the pale dangerous creature loomed over him and denied him help but rather cursed him into eternal damnation. He _hated_ Luther at that moment. It would've been best if he had died. It would've been best. Now he was eternally cursed, and not only did _he_ have to be cursed but so did Blair and Brenton. It was a domino effect.

"A witch warned me against turning you, you know. But you know how much faith I have in the words they say. They're tricky little things. All too willing to manipulate you the moment you let your guard down." Luther explained. "I have no faith in gods or prophesies. I only believe in what we pave with our hands, and I believed that your spirit was strong enough to spook the witch. And that was enough for me."

Chuck swallowed, wanting desperately to run away. To get on his Bass jet and speed off as fast as he could. But he now had to think about a lot more than just him.

"And this is why I made you _mine_. Because I had searched long and hard for someone to strike fear in the hearts of others the way I had," he whispered and smiled sardonically at Chuck. "So I took you in and loved you as much as a vampire ever can. But if you cross me, childe… I will make you wish you had died slowly of gangrene the night of the plane crash."

Chuck swallowed, not breaking eye contact with Luther, and slowly nodded. "I would never."

And in that moment, Chuck finally became a liar.

Luther walked back to his little table and grabbed the two goblets. He passed him the wine and re-filled his empty goblet with the vintage Shiraz. Chuck swirled the wine in his hand and gulped it back quickly. He was tired of drinking wine, but hungering for Scotch before his maker was a mistake he would not soon make. Luther took his goblet with him, nodded and walked away, studying the room around him. "I'll take the bed. I advise that you get comfortable in the coffin." And with that, he retreated to the room filled with Blair's scent.

* * *

"This was the wrong thing to do," she whispered in the cold waiting room. "This is wrong."

The person next to her lifted his head from his hands and looked ahead, not providing any comments.

"This shouldn't have happened," she continued, now nearly rocking back and forth in her chair.

"Stop it," he snapped at her. "Just shut up for a minute."

Her face crumbled. "No. This was _wrong_. We shouldn't have. We had no right. None."

Down the hallway, a baby let out a wail and she closed her eyes tightly, wanting it all to go away.

"Mama!" The child cried, and she pressed the palms of her hands to her ears. To shut him out. "SISI!"

"Just pick him up," he ordered her coldly.

"Sisi!" He coughed, out of breath.

"I can't," she whispered. "I just can't. I've fucked it all up, Nate. I know I have."

"Miss Serena, you make baby cry, you take him!" Dorota plopped the screaming Brenton on Serena's lap, startling her. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him as he sobbed and coughed against her.

She turned to look at the maid, who was glaring at her with tear tracks down her face. "My Miss Blair not crazy. She good mama, and you know this. She care for you all the time. You are _bad_ friend, Miss Serena. Bad friend."

"Mama!" Brenton sobbed. Finally, Nate couldn't take it and stood up.

"We did what we thought was best!" He yelled at her. "Don't scream at Serena; we are all upset about this. We're all upset that Chuck died, but Blair needed help. We should've done this a long time ago."

"Mister Chuck would _never_ done this. Never. He'd be upset if he were alive," Dorota countered, and then turned to glare once more at Serena. "You _bad_ person."

"I think that's enough." Lily came up behind Dorota, and the maid cast one last withering glare at them all before storming off.

Serena was shaking and crying, which was not helping at all to calm pale looking Brenton in his little onesie.

"Give him to me," Lily, said and Serena happily complied.

Brenton screamed for a moment, and then finally settled down against Lily's chest as she rocked him back and forth.

"Eleanor and Harold just finished signing the papers…" she said slowly to the blond pair before her. "What you both did was very brave… Hopefully she wont have to be here long, and she can soon come home with her baby…"

"Mom…" Serena tried. "Maybe we were wrong…"

"I've asked myself that same thing over and over again, and somehow I desperately wish we were. I'll take Brenton home and keep him tonight. I'm sure Rufus will be delighted," she gulped and nodded at Nate. "Don't let her stay here too long."

Nate watched her go as Brenton looking over at them over with teary eyes, babbling his woes to his grandmother. He sighed and sunk back down into the chair next to Serena. Serena's hands were still outstretched from letting Brenton go.

"Nate, do you think…?" She whispered.

"No." he replied quietly. "Hopefully she'll be out soon, and she'll be better."

She watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands and, without warning, she reached and grabbed them for lack of having something better to do with her own. She watched as he stared down at their joined hands, his jaw twitching and working overtime. Slowly but surely, he pulled his hand out of grasp.

"Not yet, Serena," he finally said and she felt a tear, unbidden, run down her cheek. He placed her hands carefully on her lap and she let him. Then he stood and walked away, mumbling something about needing coffee.

Her heart broke once more and, at that moment, she was sure that even _she_ didn't sympathize with herself.

* * *

Her head was turned as she stared at the door from the bed. For some reason – despite her anger, frustration and indignation – all she could think of over and over was a conversation she had with Chuck about the Ostroff center a long, long time ago.

She blinked and swallowed. She thought she heard her baby crying for her, and she hoped to God it wasn't him because if it was, she was liable to break her own way out of here. She shifted a bit, as much as her binds would allow her. The binds bit into her wrist, and she flinched.

"_Suffering from post-traumatic stress,"_ the doctor had said to her parents. _"It is best we keep her here for a few days for observation. We'll see how she is by week's end."_

She took a deep breath; her tears were now dried on her face. She was a fool. To think that all her family wanted her to do was talk to a shrink. She had agreed to appease them. Her carefully crafted plan was to deny that she ever her mentioned Chuck, but that had apparently sent off warning bells in the doctor's mind, and her mother had insisted that she was not well. She'd told the doctor of how she pretended Chuck was alive after the crash, how no one was allowed to move his things from the closet, how even his shaving cream was kept in the bathroom. These were things she couldn't deny.

So many facts were against her that she began to wonder if she had lost her mind completely. Fact #1 – she had first seen Chuck when she had her small breakdown and Brenton was sick. Fact #2 – Vampires. _Really?_ Fact #3 – No one had seen Chuck but her and Brenton.

Had her mind pushed the envelope enough with her hunger for her love that she had concocted scenes in her head? She closed her eyes and shook her head. Fact #4 – she only saw him at night. Was she really dreaming? She'd yet to have a moment in the park with him or in a restaurant while having brunch.

Perhaps they were all right. Perhaps they all knew the truth – the truth was that she had finally gone crazy. She _really_ believed Chuck could have come back from the dead. Dead. Blood-sucking dead. So she had let them submit her to the Ostroff center for the sake of her child. If she was really crazy, then she would put him in harm's way and would never forgive herself.

So she stared at the door.

There was, however, one ray of hope. That ray lay in the possibility of going herself to the hotel where Chuck was staying and checking for certain if he was there. If he was there, then she was not crazy and then things would be okay. As okay as they could be with Chuck now being a vampire and all.

But if she found it empty… then… Then she would have to accept that she had certifiably lost her mind.

However, she couldn't just wait here for a week. What if Chuck left? What if he evaporated into thin air? What if he marched into the house demanding to know where they had put her? That would cause quite a scandal.

She had thoughts of talking to his picture, night after night, day after day. Comparing other men to him. He had marked her. The truth was that you _could_ love someone too much, but that had always been the nature of her and Chuck's relationship. He'd always wanted her _too_ much. She'd always fought his advances off _too_ much. They had passionately fought, loved, and lived to the fullest. In the end, his desperation to get to her had ensured his death, and her desperation of having her husband back had landed her in the insane asylum. Destructive? Perhaps. But at least they didn't live their life bouncing from love to love like Serena. Or being unsure of it like Nate. Or running away from it like Lily. Or never really knowing it like her mother. There were many ways to love and, if you asked her, she would rather love with all of her than with just parts. Perhaps this was why she and Chuck made sense, because they had an unspoken understanding of where they stood with one another. Whether they were together or apart, dead or undead.

They _belonged_ to one another, as horrifically archaic as it was. That was as truthful as she'd ever been with herself.

It was there, in that bed, that she realized that – even if Chuck were really dead and she was having horrible hallucinations about him – she would _always _love him. Even if years down the road, she met a good man who was simple enough to provide her with comfort, she would always love her husband.

* * *

Chuck had horrible dreams. Blair featured prominently in them, her façade haunting and lulling him. He dreamt that she was staring at him with horrified eyes and begging for his help. In his dreams, he kept watching her but would never go to her. His feet wouldn't move; his mouth wouldn't open. He was a stone. He was dead, and he watched her live.

Before all of his memories came to him, "Mack" and his uncomplicated thoughts consisted mainly of becoming the King his maker wanted him to be. Now the thought of such life revolted him. Living century after century without Blair. Without his son. It was not a life. It was damnation.

He was so tired from all the constant tossing and turning that he didn't wake at his usual hour. It was well past nightfall when his eyes blinked open. He groaned, not remembering ever closing the door to the coffin. All his tossing and turning must have made the heavy door snap shut. His muscles ached and hunger gnawed at him. He lusted for blood… More specifically, Blair's blood.

This was not good. Hungering for her blood was dangerous, and something he would need to drastically control. He could lose control one day and… He didn't even want to think of what exactly he was capable.

So without further ado, he pushed on the door for it to open. It didn't bulge.

He pushed at it again, but to no avail.

And suddenly all of his thoughts _clicked_, and he knew exactly what had happened.

Last night, Luther had already filled a goblet with wine next to him. He never drank from it. In fact, he handed the goblet to Chuck before he retired to bed. Not only that, but Luther suggested he take the coffin so that Luther could sleep in the bed. Luther would've _never_ wanted to sleep somewhere that had such a potent female scent.

The wine he had drunk… Usually when he had horrible dreams, he would wake a variety of times throughout the night. This time, he hadn't. He'd remained asleep with dreams of Blair haunting him.

His breathing increased, and he punched at the coffin.

"LUTHER!" He cried, punching the coffin again. He screamed and thrashed inside of the locked coffin without success. "LUTHER!"

He finally felt his sire enter the room and stopped his screaming, his ears aware of movements in the empty room. A dark chuckle was heard from the outside, and Chuck felt physically sick.

"There's a spell on it; you won't get far. Only way to open it is from the outside. I _also _know witches." Chuck paused as Luther walked around the room. "You _are_ a smart one," his sire said clearly.

"Luther…" Chuck warned.

"Don't use that voice with _me!_" Luther cried, and Chuck banged his head against the trapped door. "I _created_ you. You were _nothing_. You were a broken little boy when I found you underneath the rubble!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chuck tried, attempting to control the situation.

"Don't. fuck. With. Me." Luther enunciated. "I know all about your little visit to the little lying, conniving witch! I know all about your little excursion to Benito and about that desperate thirst you seem to have for this cunt you can't stop thinking about!"

He felt Luther pace the floor, his robes floating angrily around him. " I made you a Prince! I gave you _everything!_ And _this_ is how you repay me?"

"Luther, please –" Chuck insisted, placing his bruised hand against the wood. "I'll do anything. I'll leave with you." His thoughts ran with horror. He'd seen firsthand the evil inside of Luther. And right now Blair and Brenton were defenseless in a city to which Luther had complete access.

Fear, like he had never felt it, ran through his veins. He could hardly think straight.

"Oh, and you wouldn't find a way to worm yourself back to this life? I don't think so, childe. If I know anything about the man you used to be, it's that you _desperately _loved your little life with your little wife and your little son," Luther mocked. "So you've fallen under the delusion that you can have it all. Well, that's going to end, and _fast_. Today, I will make sure of it. You'll have nothing to come back for."

"No…" Chuck whispered, and then heard someone else enter the room.

"I have the address. I can take you there," he heard Alexander tell Luther.

"Well done. If you keep up your end of this bargain, this wretched city will soon be under your complete control," Luther nodded, and Chuck banged his fist against the wood.

"LUTHER!" He cried.

But the two vampires left him there. Locked. Barricaded.

"LUTHER! NOT BLAIR, PLEASE NOT BLAIR!" He screamed, and then began fighting for real. He punched and fought against the wood uselessly.

* * *

To be continued

a/n: As always, thank you SO much for the reviews, I always read and appreciate them! New chapter should be up either Friday or Sat. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"When you find out there is no ultimate good and evil in which you can place your faith, the world does not fall apart at the seams. It simply means that every decision is more difficult, more critical, because you are creating the good and evil yourself, and they are very real."_

_Anne Rice_

Sleep was simply not coming to her. Thoughts fluttered in and out of her mind over and over again until she was left tossing and turning and just staring at the ceiling. She kept replaying all the moments she'd had with Chuck over and over.

What was real? What was imagined? Nothing made sense. She felt herself dizzy with so many thoughts. She was desperate to run as fast as she could to the hotel and prove them all wrong. Show them that Chuck was really back for good.

In all the tossing and turning and churning of her thoughts, she fell in to a listless sleep until the noise of someone opening the door woke her. If it was more medicine she would refuse it, so she turned away from the door and curled herself into a ball facing the wall.

Small footsteps came to her, and someone shook her shoulder slightly.

"B?"

Blair instantly sat up and stared at her best friend, then recoiled away from her.

"Wait, listen," Serena whispered.

Blair glared at her, still very hurt by the way things were handled. "Don't touch me. Don't speak to me."

"Blair, listen, this all went wrong!" Serena hissed, her hands up.

"Visiting hours are not until morning. I suggest you plead your case then," Blair snapped and turned back to the wall.

She stiffened when she felt Serena sitting on the bed, looking at her – looming over her was more like it.

"Go away –"

"I can help you get out of here," Serena interrupted her.

"How ironic… You got me in here, and now you want to help me get out?" Blair bit angrily, still facing the wall. "Didn't you claim I needed help?"

"Blair, please. I was concerned… I _still_ am." Serena whispered, touching her arm through the thin blanket, and causing Blair to recoil even more.

"I can take care of myself and of others, in case you forgot," Blair said in a hushed tone. "I don't need _you_ to look after me."

"Blair, you were talking crazy –"

"Therefore I must _be_ crazy," Blair cut her off.

Serena was silent, but Blair knew she was still there. The warmth of Serena's leg touched her back and assured her that her "friend" had not moved.

"Go away." Blair said softly, burrowing herself more in the bed.

"Come. I can get you out of here, B." Serena insisted, tugging at her arm. "Your mother signed you in, so unless she signs you out, you're stuck here."

Blair gulped. Her mind told her not to trust Serena, but her heart knew she was the person Blair trusted _most_. She slowly turned to look at her blonde counterpart.

"The nurse just went to lunch and left the security guard in charge. I can charm him while you sneak behind…"

Blair stared at her in confusion. "You really need to leave the plotting to me."

Serena shrugged and gave her a half-hearted smile. "I can't take Brenton crying for you any more, and Dorota was right… Chuck wouldn't have wanted this."

Blair nodded slowly. "Where's my baby?"

"Mom has him," Serena explained. "We'll need to talk to her…"

"No. I have somewhere I need to be." Blair shifted and got out of the bed, going for her clothing.

"B –" Serena began worriedly.

"You came in here to break me out, right? Then you're going to have to trust me," Blair replied sharply as she slipped her skirt under her nightgown and zipped it up.

"I… _trust_ you, Blair. I do," Serena said, very unconvincingly.

"S…" Blair warned.

"Where are you going?" Serena asked her, standing up and helping her with her blouse.

"I need to find someone… And then I promise to come home," Blair explained, wincing as her bandage went through the arm hole of the blouse.

"I'm worried," Serena confessed, handing Blair her shoes.

Blair slipped her heels on and looked at Serena. "You need to trust me."

Serena studied her. She _looked_ sane. So she finally nodded and led her out of the room. The guard turned back to the station, and Serena cast a look over her shoulder to Blair before nodding. She took off her jacket, revealing her typical attire. A bandage dress.

Taking a deep breath she began strutting towards the young guard, who did a double take when she tossed her hair over her shoulder and sent him a shy smile.

Blair watched her and shook her head, smiling.

"Hi. I'm Serena," she introduced herself to the stunned guard. "What's your name?"

"S – Steve. Are you supposed to be here?" He stuttered, and Blair smirked. She had to hand it to Serena. As Serena went on and went on talking about how confused she was by the doctor's words, Blair slipped off her high heels and tip toed down the hallway, tossing a smile over her shoulder to her best friend. Quickly, she walked out, slipping her shoes back on.

A hand grabbed her, however, and she let out a loud yelp as she was pulled to the shadows.

* * *

The pounding, the screaming, the crying had ended long ago.

He had gone fully catatonic. He stared at nothing. He stared at the night. He was now truly cursed. He should have never come. He'd destroyed _everything_. He always destroyed everything. He'd destroyed his mother; he'd destroyed Blair, now he would be destroying his son also. To love him was to die cursed. He was certain of it. He'd been cursed from childbirth, and it was just now that he was willing to accept it. Willing to let it be true.

He dimly felt the blood from his hands pooling on his chest. The chest that he had clawed at, attempting to tear his heart out. He didn't want it. He didn't want it near him. Didn't want it _inside_ of him.

She was gone. He knew it. He _felt_ it. He knew Luther. Luther was a killing machine, and he'd trained Mack. He knew she was dead. He was nearly certain that so was his son.

He was now dead, and he lay biding his time. A caged animal ready to pounce _the moment_ he was let loose. The moment Luther let him out, he was going to _kill_ the old man. And he would enjoy it. He would relish it.

Eyes closed. Mouth in a thin line. Jaw sharpened. Fangs elongated. He waited.

He didn't know how long he waited, but soon enough, the door to the hotel was opened and he froze. It wasn't Luther, that much he knew. Whoever it was, was enough. It was better this way. This way he could _hunt_ Luther the way he wished it.

He didn't have to wait long to have the top of the coffin thrown back, and in the black of the night he bounced out, grabbing the person by the neck, hissing and shoving them back.

"CHUCK!"

He stopped, dropping the person and backing up as far the dark room would permit him. His back hit the wall as he stared at the person before him.

"Chuck?" She asked.

He blinked, studying her visage.

"Blair?" He whispered.

"Why were you locked? Oh, my God, what happened to your hands?" She cried, going to him.

He simply stared at her, unable to register what was happening.

"You're… alive…" he breathed in amazement.

She stopped her fretting, and her expression turned soft as she looked at him, two people who were supposed to be dead in the night.

"That line works both ways," she whispered, a small rueful smile playing on her perfectly shaped lips. She reached out and touched his face, and he didn't need any further encouragement.

He _needed_ her now.

He thought she had died, but she'd come back to him. Without further thought, he grasped her face and kissed her. Kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth, tasting her and luring her into his world.

She moaned and grasped his shoulders, pressing herself against him.

He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him again.

"I thought you died," he whispered huskily against her mouth, and she tangled her hands in his hair, biting his lip.

"Serena and Dorota helped me escape from the Ostroff center," she whispered as he licked her neck. He paused and looked at her, confused. "Later," she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Where's the baby?" Chuck asked, placing her on top of the coffin.

She kissed him deeply, arching into him. "With Lily."

He nodded, his thoughts clearing. Luther would scour the city to no avail. "Good."

She tightened her legs around him, urging him on. His hands slipped under her blouse and he pulled it over her head easily, hungering to see her bare breasts. She yanked at his tie, pulling it off and making it float to the floor, discarded in the corner of the room.

He tossed his own shirt to the side as she unhooked her bra and suddenly they were facing one another, naked from the waist up. Her hands slid up his chest, watching with fascination how his wounds had nearly healed.

"What did you do?" She whispered against his skin, searching his face. He placed his still-bloody hands over her warm ones and kissed each palm.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered against the pale skin, and she closed her hand over his mouth, silencing him. Her eyes were wide, longing for him.

They were kissing once more, his hands running under her legs and grasping at her ass, pulling her to him. She was hungry for him, encasing his head in her hands and moaning into his mouth. His gorgeous mouth.

Her breasts, prickling with the cool air in the room, were now pressed flatly against the skin of his chest, her tiny nipples sending shots of pleasure right to the base of his cock.

"I need you," she moaned against him.

It didn't take long, she doesn't need to ask twice before he's pushing down this pants, pulling them down his pale legs, his knees badly bruised and cut from where he pounded on the coffin – yet the wounds seem to quickly heal and now lay barely forgotten.

Her skirt quickly comes off, her panties following a second later. She's sitting on her bare ass on the coffin, her legs wrapped around him.

To anyone that might come up behind them as Chuck pounds deeply in her, his ass clenching with the thrusts, it's a beautiful sight.

Her small hands with nails painted berry pink are scratching at his back, her head is thrown back and her ruby lips are parted with pleasure. There's a sheen of moisture on his back where sweat might be if he were alive.

There's life there. There's passion and there's love.

Her heat, encasing him, reminds him that she's alive, she's his precious living thing and he loves the way she clenches and un-clenches around him, sucking him in, making him hers.

He decides that the arch of her back is the most wondrous structure ever created. The way her lower back dips in to form the smoothness of her spine. The skin there is the softest he's ever felt. And suddenly, he needs to see more. He lifts her easily, making her yelp and lands them both on the couch in the living area, face down.

She pulls herself up on her elbows, confused.

He runs his hand over her back, savoring her ivory skin. "Shh…" he soothes, and she whimpers, needy for him, writhing against the cloth.

Spreading her legs as best as he can, he slowly sinks into her to the hilt. She lets out a muffled scream, tossing her head from side to side. Her ass cheeks press delightfully against his lower stomach, his hairs tickling her and making her clench tighter and tighter around him. She feels him _in_ her. Poking her so deeply, she thinks she might pass out.

Her juices make for a slick entrance as he continues to thrust deep into her, massaging her cheeks with one hand and rubbing the engorged nub of her clit with the other until she shudders deeply, not even making a sound. It's too much, too much pleasure. Her eyes just roll to the back of her head and she thrashes before him.

It isn't long before the fluttering of her inner walls make him come with unexpected pleasure. He yells, loudly, spilling in her deep and wet. He lands on top of her, his chest pressed on her back as she lies gasping, her eyes wide.

She's limp, dead with pleasure.

* * *

To be dead with pleasure was the best way to go, he was convinced – especially when it came to Blair. His wife, his best friend. He peppered her shoulder blades with kisses, licking the salty sweat from her skin. She slowly and, with difficulty, turned around so that they faced one another on the couch. He pressed his face to the side of hers, nuzzling her soft, warm skin.

"I love you so much," he whispered, rare words that were never thrown to the air or doubted.

She nodded, combing his fingers through his hair.

"You and Brenton are not safe, Blair," he whispered. "I should've never come back. He knows about you, and he will try to destroy you to spite me."

He could see the fear in Blair's eyes at the prospect of Brenton being in danger.

"Who? Luther?"

He nodded, kissing her neck. He desperately wanted to bite her, if only just a little, but he knew she would need to recuperate from the last draining she took from him.

"He was here waiting for me this morning… He locked me in the coffin and headed to kill you," he explained softly. Like it was a deep, dirty secret. One he hated and despised. "I know of a place deep in the mountains of Argentina… We can stay there for a while. Luther won't discover the place for a couple of hundred years."

"A couple hundred…" Blair whispered and shook her head. "Chuck… people don't live that long…"

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "When you go, I go." He made the promise against her skin.

"You'll never grow old…" she whispered, touching his face, tracing the lines of youth. He tried to pull away.

"That doesn't matter to me."

"What do you think that will do to me?" She replied, her brows furrowed. "The year I turn sixty-five, and my husband looks no more than twenty-five?"

He cupped her face, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against hers. "What would you have me do? Stay away? Watch you and Brenton from afar, living your life? Loving someone else?" He sighed. "I'm not that strong, Blair."

She slowly nodded. "You are. But I wouldn't want that, either. I couldn't stand it..."

* * *

"What do you mean she's gone? Gone where?" Eleanor snapped at the nurse in the station.

The woman stuttered as she tried to explain that she'd simply gone to lunch. Nate walked up behind Eleanor and instantly knew what was happening. Blair was missing. He sighed and ran his hands over his hair.

"Check with Dorota," he told Eleanor. Eleanor stopped and stared at him.

"Dorota wouldn't!" Eleanor snapped at him.

"Dorota didn't." Serena came up behind them, her hair tousled from her fingers combing it over and over again in nervousness. "I did."

"You…" Eleanor's eyes narrowed, and Nate's mouth hung open.

Serena raised her chin, defiantly. "I did this. I needed to fix it. She doesn't belong here. She's not crazy."

"Serena!" Nate reprimanded. She turned her head sharply to him, but addressed Eleanor.

"Dorota was right. Chuck wouldn't have wanted this. We had no right. She's a good mother, and she's a good friend."

"Serena Van der Woodsen, you had no right!" Eleanor fumed. "She's _my _daughter!"

"Serena is right," Nate finally spoke, his eyes directly on Serena. "We shouldn't have… Chuck… He wouldn't have wanted this. She _is_ a good mother, and if she's going through a hard time, we just need to be there for her."

Eleanor sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead, her eyes filling with tears. Serena watched in awe as the woman's face crumbled. She didn't think all the Botox would permit her to do so.

"I just… I don't know what to do anymore…" she whispered finally and Serena, sensing that Eleanor had never let her emotions go this far, quickly walked to her and hugged her, because she really did care about Eleanor. She'd been there for as long as she could remember. "I don't know how to fix my little girl." The mother sighed against Serena's shoulder. The sad things was that Serena didn't know how to, either.

* * *

"We need to leave," he urged her and, suddenly, they were moving quickly. Haphazardly grabbing their clothing and slipping them back on. "He's an excellent tracker, but he's grown lazy in the past few years. We should be able to outrun him."

Blair nodded, zipping up her skirt and going for her shoes. There was a hammering in her chest that she couldn't control. It was fear and uncertainty. These were real creatures to be afraid of. Creatures that would kill her or her baby, or even Chuck.

"How much does he know about your life?" She asked, her voice shaky as she slipped on her shoes and he slipped a coat over his shoulders.

"I'm hoping not much other than who I was and you…" She watched as Chuck grabbed his gun and made sure it was loaded, making her gulp, then threw it inside a small leather bag.

"I can get access to the emergency funds you set aside some years ago," she explained. "No one knows about them, and I put them in Brenton's name."

He suddenly turned and smirked at her. "Smart girl," he whispered admiringly, and she smiled back. It was suddenly their junior year all over again and they were plotting, thinking along the same wavelength, and that feeling of appreciation for her smarts and wit warmed her over.

"I'm a regular girl scout," she snipped, and this made him smirk wider.

"That you are. Let's go. We can pick up the baby and try to be on a plane within the hour," he murmured. She nodded, that feeling of inevitable adventure meshed with fear was adrenaline to her soul. Honestly, despite the fear and the life-changes, there was a happiness she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She had missed this. She had missed him. She had missed them more than she ever thought possible. With him, despite current circumstances, she was complete.

He grabbed the bag and reached back for her hand. She stared at it for a moment. Here she was… running off with her own husband and the father of her child, a man who just happened to be a vampire. Her life couldn't have become more fucked up if it tried.

They rushed to the door and she felt that they were happy, despite the horror. She could see it in his face. He looked younger, healthier. He yanked the door open and suddenly the smile and the happiness vanished.

Destroyed. Like a balloon popping.

Blair instantly shrank back, her heart hammered in her chest and his hand tightened around hers. There before them was the most ominous, sick creature she had ever seen. She wanted to scream. He wasn't ugly. On the contrary… he was beautiful.

Silken pale skin, neatly combed dark auburn hair, pale eyes and high cheekbones. A tall structure and well built. Impeccably dressed and ancient in more ways than one.

He looked like he had dropped from one of her historic romance novels, but he was no hero… He was something else. Something _darker_.

She felt fear like she had never felt before, and she instantly knew who and what he was.

In more than one way, he reminded her of Bart Bass. Imposing and cold, ready to love but also to destroy if crossed. And with their little luggage and happy smiles, she was sure they had crossed many a line.

This was the creature that had destroyed her life. She both hated and feared him. She wanted to hurt him and run away from him. She wondered how Chuck could keep all of his emotions in check before such a thing.

Luther stared at Chuck, drinking him in, looking him up and down – and then he turned to her. Blair felt her mouth go dry. She stared at him, not moving, afraid that if she looked away he would kill her. His eyes turned a slighter shade of pale yellow, and such an inhuman action terrified her.

"So…" he whispered, and she saw fangs. Yellow, ugly, old fangs. "… You're the little bitch."

She felt Chuck's body tense and crouch slightly, and Luther seemed to notice also because his eyes narrowed in on Chuck.

"You thought I was going to go after her, didn't you?" He chuckled, and Blair grasped Chuck's arm, unsure of what to do about a laughing demon. "I am neither stupid nor naïve. No… I had something much more Machiavellian planned, childe."

And from behind him, he hoisted up a human body and tossed it easily to the carpet before them.

The human's face turned to them and Blair, unwillingly, let out a horrified high-pitched scream that she would remember for the rest of her life. The pale face, turned now gray, was of none of than that sad little Brooklyn boy that lived in the wrong side of the bridge.

Dan Humphrey lay dead before their feet. Really… really… dead.

* * *

To be continued

A/N: I honestly never thought I would get to this moment! I have exactly…. 4 chapies to go. I think. If I don't get carried away with certain scenes :) I'm thinking next chapter will come either late Monday or Tuesday, depends how crazy my weekend is. Thank you all SO much for letting me know your thoughts!


	17. Chapter 17

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"How can so much beauty hide such a bruised and steely heart, and why must I love him, why must I lean in my weariness upon his irresistible yet indomitable strength? Is he not the wizened funeral spirit of a dead man in a child's clothes?"  
Anne Rice_

Blair's kept screaming as Luther laughed loudly, and Chuck was so distracted by the scent of dead body before him that he didn't see Alexander swiftly enter and, with ability that only an aged vampire can acquire, he swiftly injected Chuck in the arm.

Chuck noticed when Alexander had already pushed the plunger down, emptying the contents of the syringe in him.

Chuck tried to turn and grab at Alexander, but his knees buckled and he fell on the floor. His face was now even closer to Humphrey's open-mouthed one.

"Chuck!" He heard Blair scream, but all he felt was overwhelming weakness consuming and taking over him. He felt as if he could lay his head down and sleep right there and then. Sleep for a long, long time.

He felt her kneel by him and tug at him, and he finally turned to see her beautiful face scared and marred with the tragedy of her clear tears.

"Blair…"

"Take her," he heard Luther exclaim and, quick as lightning, Alexander grabbed Blair from behind, sending her screaming and kicking. He tried to raise his hand to pull her back, but the trouble of simply reaching exhausted him and he fell sideways.

"What did you do to him?" He heard Blair screaming at them. "What did you do?"

He felt Luther come closer to him and kneel before him, looking at him with what could only be read as a kind face. "My poor, misled childe."

"Don't hurt him!" Blair screamed like a wildcat. "Don't you hurt him!"

"Shut her up. I've never enjoyed listening to a woman scream!" Luther snapped at Alexander. Alexander smirked and placed his hand over her mouth and whispered into her ear. Chuck heard him clearly.

"You as much as bite me, and it will only serve to turn me on, darling," he said to her, his vice-like grip on her. Blair struggled a bit, but her eyes were focused on Chuck. He stared back at her, blinking, unable to do anything.

He needed his strength back, and there was only one thing that could instantly heal him from whatever poison Luther had put in him.

Luther reached out and petted his hair lovingly, though Chuck struggled against it.

"Please… let her go," he begged his master.

"It's not that easy, childe," Luther explained. "I've gone through a lot of trouble for you. A lot of fucking trouble."

Chuck turned his head, staring at Blair full on. Tears kept dripping from her eyes, her wide eyes that simply took him in.

"But I believe I can rest now that _this_ time around, there will be no novel to tell you of your past," Luther said clearly, touching Dan's dead face. "Such a pretty boy. I would've liked to fuck him. I dare say he would've enjoyed it. Wouldn't you agree, childe? There's hardly been a human male that didn't."

"You've killed Dan. You can let Blair go… I won't ever know of her," Chuck said softly. "No book. No Chuck Bass, right?" Chuck swallowed thickly. Resignation was such an easy and simple thing. The acceptance of frailty and failure was overwhelming, and it was the surest way to survive such a calamity. He knew the damage his sire could do. He could kill Blair before his eyes, before he even had time to utter her name. "She would only live in my dreams… Right?"

Luther sighed, removing his hand from Dan's dead body and turning to Chuck. "Mack –"

"My name is _Chuck Bass_," he snarled at him, glaring angrily. "You _lied_ to me. All these years, century after century, you manipulated me. Gained my entire trust, dangled the promise of the throne before me when you never even planned to give it to me. You planned to live forever. So you made me feared and revered amongst the clans… your _champion_. I was your little guard dog and I _hate_ you for it, but I am _willing_ to go back to being oblivious to a life I loved if you let her go… Let her live her life, and I will serve you as Mack Pendragon for the rest of my eternal life."

Luther sat back on his heels and studied Chuck, looked him up and down.

"Year after year, lifetime after lifetime… I will be your devoted childe," Chuck emphasized.

Luther reached out and helped Chuck up. Chuck leaned on him heavily, like a dead weight. Chuck watched as Luther regarded Blair coolly, weighing his options.

"Please, sire…" he begged him as his eyes took in Blair's pale skin. Her arms were all bruised from where Alexander had held her down. Blair always bruised so easily. Chuck's stomach churned as he witnessed Alexander nuzzle Blair's head, inhaling her scent. His arousal was palpable from where Chuck stood, and it made him desperately hope that his little plan worked.

From a very early age, Mack had rejected his sire's sexual love. It had perplexed the elder vampire. As plain as could be, he simply wasn't interested in it. His eyes had always wandered to the lovely slave girls that roamed around his home with pale skin and dark hair. He'd hungered for them. Yes, he'd seen his maker's bed, what childe hadn't? But nothing special or remarkable. Mack often grew bored, much to Luther's annoyance. He saw his childe as the most beautiful of all of his toys: pale, well-formed, well hung and sexual. Yet Mack was never really tempted, and this had often left Luther with unresolved anger and frustration. As the years passed, Luther attempted to let it go. But every so often he would demand his rights as a maker and enjoy the rare and exquisite skin his child sported. Despite it all, even when it was demanded, Luther could tell Mack didn't enjoy it as much as he should. It seemed like there was always something else on his mind, and his thoughts would always wander.

* * *

When little Blair Waldorf turned five, Eleanor realized her daughter had a grand ability to imagine herself an entire universe. She'd found her daughter dressed in her fine pearls and wearing a pink chiffon dress she'd had made for the child from Paris. Blair sat, poised and perfect before her elegant tea table, and talked with utmost clarity and dignity to her toys, all of whom seemed to be attentive to what the child was saying. She explained to them how one should comport themselves during high tea and what subjects of conversation were allowed at the table, and which should be avoided at all costs. Even then she ruled. Even then she had crowned herself Queen. Even then she would need a King to satisfy her character, her determination and her "_passion for living_". No simple boy would do. Any other simple boy would distract her for a portion of time until her real self emerged from the shedding Phoenix. Who would be able to tame such a wild beast?

Blair hardly remembered such things, but in the back of her mind she had a distant memory of explaining to Reginald, her white-furred rabbit – whom she had loved and lost at the hands of the evil young Bass – how a gentleman should behave. It was her first meeting with the boy, and he was taken there by her nana, Dorota. Apparently Mr. Bass and her daddy had things to discuss, so Charles was brought up to Blair's nursery to play with her.

Blair blatantly ignored the dark-haired boy, yet her little back sat straighter and more composed than ever as he watched her with dark-black eyes. She explained to all of her toys that it was rude to stare like _some_ people did. Needless to say, when Reginald was "kidnapped" and went missing for two weeks, Blair Waldorf knew _exactly_ who the culprit was. It was that Bass boy with the dark eyes. Reginald appeared two weeks later in a parcel delivered by a young teen who wouldn't say who sent him. Blair screamed at seeing her precious bunny's blue eyes colored in with a black marker and fangs replaced his pleasant bunny-teeth. Despite her daddy buying her a new buddy, Blair had been scarred by the incident and it was a whole 2 years before Blair would even address Charles. And by then Charles was now "Chuck".

She didn't know why, but at that moment, as this monster held her in his grip and she found herself unable to move and unable to save herself or her love – she thought of that moment when he first saw her and just stared at her in her own nursery.

_Her _Chuck. He'd always been hers, despite the years and the tides that came and went. He was always hers and, in a strange sort of way, she had always been his. The hidden smiles of utter treachery that they shared as one of their enemies was escorted out of school. The little jokes that they told each other and that only they understood. The way he didn't judge her or didn't want her to be better, sweeter, less complicated than others.

It was so easy to love Serena; she could easily let men believe that they somehow needed to save her. It brought out the hero in all of them. From Nate to Dan, who died because of his incessant fascination with the Upper East Side, which he claimed to hate so very much. Had he not followed Serena's golden hair, he wouldn't be dead on the carpet of an overpriced hotel room. All Blair could think of at seeing his corpse was helping them sneak out of the country when Serena fled her upcoming marriage to Nate.

She'd told Dan, "You break her heart, and I'll have Vanya's cousin break your legs. You _got_ me, Humphrey?"

He had broken her heart, but Blair had been too preoccupied attempting to help Serena and navigate through Brenton's teething stage to focus on the little Brooklyn boy. He'd still been in her mind, a vendetta she needed to cash in on. Yet now that she saw what damage could be done to a human life, she desperately wished he had not died.

What would she tell Serena? And Serena _would_ care because Serena cared about people. And though Serena had loved three times the men that Blair herself had loved, she had still loved them in her Serena-way. The way pretty things are loved and cherished, each for their own attributes. And who could blame such a girl? Didn't all men love her? It was only right that her love would be divided amongst a few. Carter: a bond that Blair understood, he was the dark and mysterious one who could lull Serena away to pleasures unknown; he would come into her life and leave just as mysteriously. Dan: the possibility. In Dan, Serena had found that which was needed at specific times in her life. When the Upper East Side became too much for the beauty, Dan was there to love her in a "pure" sense. She was attracted to him like a muse to a poet who would breath words of love and simplicity. The whole charming "I have nothing but my song" was a thing that Serena loved, and therefore she loved Dan. Dan made her want to be good while Carter made her want to be bad. Yet the tug and pull was always there because Dan loved good things, and Serena walked a slippery slope and at times (and it happened often) she would slide – and Dan couldn't seem to love her when she slid. He seemed to frown when she did.

And then there was Nate. Nate, like Serena, was easy to love. Who hadn't loved Nate? Nearly all girls that came within 100 feet managed to fall under his charming spell. He was a good guy, but he was also unreachable. He was the boy in those 1980s movies with the tousled hair, the easy smile, the power ballad that played whenever he walked into a room. They had all claimed to love him: Serena, Blair, Vanessa, Jenny… who hadn't loved Nate?

But Nate had loved Serena. _Really_ loved her. It was a shame, really, that she was so slippery and bright. They had loved one another in a way that Blair had hoped would make them both happy, but it had only served to make them miserable. But he was the in between – in between being bad with Carter and being good with Dan, there had always been Nate. But the scale was now tipped, and Blair wondered where exactly they would stand. When the dust was settled, when the casualties were calculated, where would they be? What would they do? Who would they love?

The truth was that something had gone terribly wrong. Something in the way it all worked had gone wrong. She didn't when it happened. When she kissed Chuck in the back of the limo? When he decided to fly through a storm to be there for his son's birth? When Dan had sat down to write a story that didn't belong to him? When Chuck had encountered his son in Paris? When a witch had told Chuck more than she ever should?

Where had things gotten so complicated and dark that Blair could scarcely see the light at the end of the tunnel? She was drowning in the dark.

This was not how things should be. Now people were dead and history had been re-written.

She stared at Chuck and Chuck stared at her. They couldn't speak, they couldn't say anything, but his words to Luther froze her.

She'd often accused Chuck of being a selfish bastard. He'd often fucked up, especially in their early years and had stumbled to get things right, to fix things between them. His attempts were usually so over the top that she forgot why she was upset at him to begin with. A great speech, a selfless act, coming back from the dead just for her, playing with her love for all things romantic and classic – or simply loving her with those eyes of his that had haunted her since the day she first met him.

And here he was again. Placing all that he was on the line for her to live. For her to walk away knowing that he'd done it for her.

Well, she was not about to let him be so wonderfully charming this time, because she'd gladly place all of her cards and memories on the line to have him with her. It was all or nothing.

She would not live a life without him again, she would make sure of it. If her blood was the one thing that could heal him, then he would have it. She swallowed against the fear in her chest. She _had_ to do it. Once he was well, she knew he would risk everything to save them. She just hoped he wasn't foolish enough to sacrifice himself.

Her eyes were on the bag that Chuck had dropped next to Dan's body. Inside the bag, she knew he had placed the gun that carried two silver bullets. Her saving grace.

She was about to place her plan into action when she saw Luther turn his head and sigh.

"I was really hoping not to have to use this card, childe but you've left me no choice," he murmured, and Blair looked at the open door apprehensively. "Bring him, Talon."

Blair saw Chuck's face blanch and from the door came the creepiest thing Blair had ever seen. She shrank back as Alexander chuckled into her ear, making chills run up and down her spine.

A smallish, hunched creature with a deformed face came forth. Demon eyes, blatant fangs and skin so pale Blair swore it was translucent. He wore dark, shredded robes with layers and layers of fabric, and he seemed demonic in visage. Hunger exuded from his pores. A never-ending dissatisfaction with food mad him seek more and more.

He quickly looked over her and she wanted to run away, but she stayed rooted in the spot.

"Ahhh, Talon. You remember Talon, do you not, childe?" Luther murmured, and she watched as he petted Chuck's hair. "He found you, after all. I was so upset that he was killed by that angry mob a decade after your birth, but alas, he's mine now."

"Master, with great difficulty I've found it. I can smell its sweetness, sire…" the creature named Talon said, looking into his robes.

"You're not to have a bite, Talon," Luther said calmly. "Bring it here."

The creature groaned angrily and came forward.

"Luther…" she heard Chuck whisper, his eyes wide as from its stinking, dirty, black, raggedy robes, Talon revealed none other than her sleeping baby boy.

Without being able to contain herself, Blair leapt forward for her child, her heart hammering against her chest. It took Alexander by surprise, and he momentarily lost control of her before swiftly grabbing her back once more.

"MY BABY!" She screamed, clawing at Alexander and kicking him with all of her might.

"Control her!" Luther hissed at Alexander.

"No, Blair!" Chuck called to her and Brenton whimpered in Talon's gross hands, his little brows furrowed. Before Blair knew it, a strong wind spread through the room and she found her jaw grasped in a cold hand. She didn't know how fast Luther made it across the room or how he now had her pinned to the wall, his fangs glittering.

Her voice, despite her madness over her child's condition, went dry. The fear that she felt before this creature was overwhelming.

"I don't deal well with lactating bitches," he whispered to her, and her eyes widened. "It took me exactly five seconds to drain that pitiful so-called writer, and I will jack off to his whimpers this night. You, on the other hand, are inconsequential to me. The only reason I have kept you alive is because my childe, whom is all mine, seems to be fascinated by you. So I will advise you to keep your cunty mouth shut if you want your child to live. Am I making myself clear?"

Blair swallowed and slowly nodded at him.

"Good, good… Alexander?" Luther said, still staring at Blair.

"Sire…" Alexander whispered, now staring blatantly at Blair's exposed leg. Her skirt had successfully ripped and was now nearing her hip.

"Are you still horny? Of course you are. Why don't you take Mrs. Bass and show her a good time?" Luther said, shoving Blair away and making her land on the floor.

Alexander let out a chuckle that chilled Blair as she looked between him and Chuck, who had slowly stood up. His eyes were wide as he took a deep breath, reaching for her without success.

"I will be yours!" Chuck cried to Luther.

Alexander dragged her towards the bedroom and, despite Blair's protests, she saw Luther pause and slowly turned to stare at Chuck.

"I will be _yours_," he swallowed, and the entire room stopped. Even Alexander seemed intrigued. "In ways I never let you before. I will be yours."

Luther, mightily impressed, studied his child. "You never allowed me."

"For my son's life… and my wife's dignity… I will be yours," Chuck's voice was low and resigned.

She was confused. What did this mean? What was happening?

Luther slowly walked to Chuck, his magnificent robes fluttering around him as he stood before his childe and caressed his face. The caress was so intimate that Blair felt slightly sick.

"Return my son to my family. They will care for him. And Blair… _I_ will kill her but save her dignity… and I will be yours," he said slowly, staring directly at Luther.

He would kill her. Her heart hammered in her chest. Granted, she'd rather die than anything happen to Brenton or to be violated over and over by this creature…

"If I return your son, unharmed to his family… you'd _kill_ your precious wife so Alexander can't have his happy time? And in return… you'll be mine?" Luther asked, skeptical. "Always? Every night? You'd give yourself to me?"

Blair watched as Chuck's jaw twitched, and he slowly nodded. "Every night… I'd give myself to you."

"No, Chuck!" She couldn't help but cry out to him, shaking her head. Now her tears were marring her face as she whimpered pitifully against Alexander.

"You'd kill your own wife?" Luther's brows rose.

"Didn't you?" Chuck replied softly. "I'd rather her dead than what you'd have that _animal_ subject her to."

Luther cocked his head and smirked slowly. "Every night?"

Chuck slowly nodded. "Bring her to me."

"No, sire!" Alexander protested as Talon happily cheered at the destruction around him.

"Bring her!" Luther snapped at Alexander, and Blair cried out as she was dragged to Chuck.

"Chuck," she whispered as she was thrown at him. They stumbled back together, his arms wrapping weakly around her.

"Drain her," Luther smirked and slowly took a seat to watch the spectacle. Talon, ecstatic at the turn of events, set the baby on the touch, making the child stir and went to stand by his master. Alexander angrily hovered nearby.

Chuck turned Blair to face him. Her hands touched him, her brows confused. He pushed back her hair as silent tears tracked down her face. "I'm sorry…" he whispered and, looking into his chocolate brown eyes, she knew he meant it.

How ironic, she thought. To be killed by love. By the man she loved. She looked at Chuck and gulped.

"Will it hurt?" She asked him slowly. He breathed her in and kissed her forehead.

"No…" he shook his head.

"I'm getting _booooored_," Luther sighed from his spot, and Chuck gulped.

"Do it… I rather that than…" She couldn't even finish the sentence, and he looked at her one last time. "I'll see you again, wont I?"

"Always," he said, his jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might break. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and exposed her neck to him. She closed her eyes and tears slowly dribbled from her eyes. When she felt his fangs enter her neck, followed by a soft kiss, she saw her entire life flash before her.

She remembered being a small child and adoring her father; she remembered Serena and Nate and Chuck all being such innocent children. She remembered her mother and how she taught her to be a lady; she remembered afternoons of watching Audrey Hepburn movies with Serena and then dressing up with her mother's pearls. She remembered how quickly her teen life went by; she remembered loving Chuck and having his love in return. She remembered how handsome he looked there at the altar waiting for her, how he would never admit to his moist eyes the day of their wedding; she remembered how happy they were. How utterly happy. _Nothing gold can stay_. She remembered showing him her extended belly and him kissing it and whispering to their son. All of that was now lost and gone. She clutched at him, and the same familiar pleasure took over her, consuming her until she was lost in delirium.

* * *

Chuck would never, _could_ never kill Blair.

But they didn't have to know that. They couldn't understand it because Luther would never understand anything other than allegiance and momentary pleasure. He wouldn't understand how love could save a man. And he had witnessed it in his own life. Blair, in many ways, had saved him – and now she was saving him again. The poison in his blood was called Catalamine, it was extracted from the blood of witches, and it would weaken the vampire for a few days. It was enough for Luther to get Chuck to do what he wanted because he was completely unable to stop it.

There was no known antidote, not even sire's blood could cure a vampire from Catalamine poisoning.

Except for one that a little witch had told him about.

True love's blood, and that Blair had plenty of. He wouldn't need much, but just enough. If her blood had easily countered a 500 yr old curse, less than that could easily rid him of the poison.

So he drank from her, drank deeply and quickly until he felt the strength buzz into his body.

His anger at Luther was an all-consuming cloud, and he was finally ready to face the monster that had made him. He had no fear, and the foreboding prophesy sang to him. Someone out there apparently thought he could do this, and that was all he needed to believe in. He was _born_ to do this.

When he felt the strength flow into him, he stopped drinking. Blair was weak, but not as weak as he had left her last time. He kept his fangs in her, still tasting her utter sweetness on his tongue, and held her to him. Her hair covered his face and he slowly extracted his fangs from her.

"The gun is in the bag," he whispered so quietly that he barely heard himself, and then he dropped her on top of the bag.

When he had first bitten Blair, he had been so distraught with finding out that he was Chuck Bass that he'd barely paused to consider what effect her blood had on him.

This time he was all too aware. Her blood not only cured him, but it made him _stronger_. As strong as Luther. Maybe more.

It was time for payback, and he was itching for revenge.

* * *

To be continued

A/N: Thank you once more to all of you who read and review! The story is soon coming to close! =(


	18. Chapter 18

Soulless  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_"So we reach into the raging chaos, and we cling to it, and we tell ourselves it has meaning, and that the world is good, and we are not evil, and we will all go home in the end."_

_Anne Rice_

Talon's death came swifter than expected. Chuck moved forward and rammed his body into the smaller creature, making it screech. Once Chuck grabbed hold of the creature, he punched his hand into its heart, grimacing at the pain his acid-like blood caused, and yanked it out.

It was the only way to kill a netherworlder. He knew this information from having encountered one two hundred years before and killing it. This time there was no three-day fight. This time it was efficient and precise. There was no fucking around with this one.

The advantage of killing a netherworldler was that, of course, the vampire who controlled him weakened – if only for a few minutes. He knew this from when Talon was killed the first time. Luther was weakened and Mack was not allowed to feed from him for a few days, for it was said that the vampire's blood turned to poison.

He thought he heard a gunshot go off, but he was distracted at the moment. Behind him, Chuck heard Luther howl and felt his shoulder grabbed and yanked back. Luther was still a formidable enemy; a thousand years makes a vampire fairly powerful. Chuck landed on the opposite wall with a bone-crunching sound. He looked up to see Luther stalking toward him and, without thinking, threw the still beating heart in his hand at Luther's face. The heart missed, but the blood hit his face and made him scream in agony.

A loud shot made them pause, and they both turned to see Blair holding up a gun. Brenton was screaming his little lungs out behind her, his small arms flailing and reaching out towards her.

* * *

Blair saw her baby slowly blinking and looking at her as she fell in slow motion to the floor. She was taken back to the moment when he was first placed in her arms. He had been so small and perfect then, despite the chaos happening around him. All he had wanted was his mother. She was overcome with an instinctual need to protect him. That was her job at the moment. Chuck could take care of himself, but Brenton couldn't. She needed to save her baby even if it killed her in the process.

She felt weak, yes, but there was something about her baby sitting there looking at her with wide brown eyes that spurred her into action. When she landed, she fumbled for the gun inside of the bag. Alexander's eyes were on Chuck, but she saw him spring forward when he noticed that she was defenseless.

"Mama!" Brenton cried, screaming.

With shaky hands, she clutched the gun in her hand, pointed it at Alexander – aiming for his head like Chuck had told her to do – and pulled the trigger.

"Bitch…." Alexander murmured, his eyes crossing as the hole in his head seeped blood, and then he exploded like the other vampires she had killed with the sunlight.

"That's right," she grunted out, shaking and breathing hard. She winced at the pain in her neck, but stumbled to her feet regardless. Her baby was now screaming outright in fear of the loud noises around him. She stumbled towards him when she heard the roar of Luther's voice and saw Chuck been thrown across the room, making him land on a pile on the floor. Holding a heart in his hand nonetheless.

Blair's breath caught in her throat as Chuck threw the heart at Luther, and she quickly cocked the gun and pointed it at her enemy. With a less than steady hand, she fired.

Both vampires turned to look at her before Luther screamed, clutching at his neck.

"You little bitch!" He cursed her, and Blair watched in horror as vapor started coming from in between his fingers.

It was enough for Chuck to stumble towards her, grabbing her by the waist.

"The baby!" She screamed, watching as Chuck grabbed a throw from the sofa and threw it over Brenton, which only served to spook him further.

"Grab him." He placed the child in her arms and then lifted them both, running to the window. Before Blair could scream in protest, he had crashed through the window, pushing the glass out with his back.

Under the throw, Blair heard Brenton screaming and she felt him shaking in fear, so she clutched him tightly to her and began murmuring to him.

"It's OK, baby. Mommy's here, it's OK," she whispered to him.

She cast a look and watched the city flying by quickly beneath them. She turned her face into Chuck's neck. This was all too horrible; it was happening too quickly. Were they going to the airport? What was his plan?

She was even more terrified of Luther, seeing him now in flesh. He was an evil thing, and she wanted to get them all as far away as possible. He could hurt them; deeply hurt them or her baby.

"Where are we going?" She asked Chuck, whose face was stony in concentration.

"Somewhere safe, a bank, I think…" he murmured, and she nodded into him. Brenton pulled at the blanket, confused as to why he couldn't see. She finally tugged at it and watched as his little head peeked out. He had tear tracks down his face; his eyes were wide and frightened, and he looked at her with the saddest pout.

She pulled him close to her and murmured comforting words into his hair.

"Mama?" He asked, very confused. Then he spotted the city flying around him and his eyes widened. "Wow!" He cried, his little finger pointing to the buildings.

"Hold on," Chuck said and Blair, thinking that Brenton would be terrified, tried to place the blanket over him again. But the baby let out a happy laugh at the wind around them and the sudden 'swoop' they made towards the ground.

Before Blair could register much, Chuck had landed them in a dark alley behind a well-known bank. With her feet back on the ground, Blair finally let out a sigh of relief. She pulled the blanket around Brenton because the night was still chilly. Chuck looked around, his eyes still shining with an unearthly color. He was still slightly hunched, as if he expected Luther to land any moment and attack them.

"Chuck…" She reached out to him.

Chuck ignored her, looking over the back door before them, and took a deep breath before kicking it in with all of his might. Blair would've shouted 'stop,' but he was too quick. His movements were nearly eerie. As if watching a human in fast-forward.

"Dada," Brenton explained to her, tugging at her hair and laying his head on her shoulder.

The door before Chuck was pushed in, landing with a thud inside of the building. Blair's mouth dropped open. His strength was incredible, not human at all.

He turned to them and she saw him force himself to retract his fangs, which were blatantly showing.

"C'mon –" he murmured, reaching out for them.

Blair took a deep breath, nodding and walking forward, letting him guide her into the bank.

"I think I can get us into the bolt," he explained.

"He'll find us, won't he?" She asked, almost whispering and holding her baby closer.

"Yes, he knows your scent now… He's the best hunter I've ever encountered. It's only a matter of time," he said quietly, walking down the unknown hallway. The bank was closed, the halls deserted and their path clear.

"Dada," Brenton called out again for his father and, finally, Chuck turned and took him from Blair. The baby happily wrapped his little arms around Chuck's neck and stared ahead into the room before him. He had a much better view from his father's arms. Blair clutched tightly at Chuck's arm as he guided them, finally reaching the front of the bank.

The lobby was black marble, decked out in the most ostentatious late 1980's style with live plants and red carpet in certain places where VIP customers were rushed forward.

She saw Chuck's head swivel towards the bolts. "This way."

She nodded and followed him. Brenton, as a child would, started babbling nonsense. She asked him to be quiet, words that he repeated to his father.

There was a thick glass door that held the vaults. Chuck stood before it and placed his palm against the glass. He estimated it, and then turned to hand Blair the baby. Brenton protested loudly at being removed from his father's arms, but Blair kept him entertained by showing him some floating ads that came down from the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Chuck grasped the handle of the glass door tugged harshly at it. The door made a loud noise but didn't bulge much. Chuck, once more, grasped it and pulled with all of his might. Slowly but surely it began to give weight.

"Stand back!" He cried to her and she quickly did, hiding herself and Brenton behind a cashier counter.

Brenton did not appreciate being taken out of the action and started loudly crying for his daddy, his eyes searching hers for an answer as to why they were leaving his father behind.

The glass shattering came as no surprise to Blair, but it still scared her. More importantly, it scared Brenton. His little chest jumped slightly and he let out a scream, clutching at her.

"It's ok, it's ok," she assured him but quickly stood, looking for Chuck, who stood with a shattered glass door around him. He turned to her, and she gasped when she saw him covered in blood.

"Chuck!" She cried, horrified, covering the baby's eyes.

"I'm fine. It's only a few cuts, I'm already healing," he assured her, shoving glass out of the way with his shoes and beckoning her forward. She tentatively stepped towards him and took his proffered hand. He helped her over the glass and both were finally inside of the room.

He led them to a large metal vault and stood before it.

"Can you open this?" She asked,almost afraid of the answer.

He turned to her and gave her a side-smirk. "I'm not _that_ strong."

She returned his smile tentatively. They walked to a computer screen before them, the screen asked them to input a code.

"Freeze!"

Blair cried out, startling Brenton, and Chuck swiftly turned and stalked towards the overweight, short security guard who was pointing a gun at them.

"Stop right there or I'll shoot!" He warned Chuck.

"Chuck!" Blair screamed in horror but the wide-eyed man didn't have time to shoot before he was knocked unconscious by Chuck's backhand.

* * *

Lily shifted in bed and sat up quickly. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Brenton was at an age that being separated from his mother would wake him multiple times in the night so that she could feed him the milk his mother had pumped for him. She glanced at the clock. It was almost 3 am and the baby hadn't woken. Something was wrong.

"He's fine, he was tired," Rufus murmured next to her, his face half in the pillow.

"Something's wrong, he's usually up by now…" She grabbed her silk robe and pulled it over her body.

"Dan stopped waking up when he turned 14 months; Brenton is just getting older."

"Let me just check on him," Lily murmured and quickly walked out of the room, her heart hammering in her chest.

Just then Rufus' cell phone went off, and she heard him groan before finally turning on the light.

Lily walked down the hallway and into the nursery that used to be Chuck's room. The walls were a lovely yellow color and all the furniture was black and red. Brenton loved his room; she had gotten him endless toys and he had his own bed. The room was dark and quiet, as if the baby were peacefully sleeping. She walked to the crib, fully expecting to see her little angel resting, but gasped out loud when she didn't find him there.

She scampered to turn on the light.

"Brenton?" She cried, knowing Blair had said that she had seen him attempt to get out of his crib already. "Brenton!"

But the room had no baby.

"Alicia!" She screamed for their live-in maid who helped with the baby when he stayed over. "Alicia!"

The older woman came bouncing out of her room shortly, her eyes still half closed. "Y-yes Mrs. Humphrey?"

"Where's the baby?" Lily demanded. "Did you take him out?"

"N-no, Mrs. Humphrey. You put him in bed, I finish kitchen and then bed." The woman's wide eyes told her the truth, and Lily pushed past her to find Rufus.

"Rufus !"

"Lily!" He came barreling out of his room in boxers.

"The baby is gone!"

"Dan is missing!"

"What?" Lily asked, now fully awake.

"What do you mean, the baby is missing?" Rufus asked, still startled.

"He's gone!" Lily cried.

"Jenny just called me, she got home from partying, found the door opened and… _blood_ on the front door. Dan was missing, and Julie was dead…" Rufus murmured.

"Oh, my God!" Lily gasped, her hand at her mouth.

"I've got to go to Brooklyn," he said, grabbing his jeans.

"Let me call Serena, she's fully capable of kidnapping Brenton and taking him to Blair." Lily nodded.

* * *

Chuck's entire body froze when he felt the man enter the room. He instinctively knew what he had to do.

"Freeze!"

He growled deep in his chest and turned quickly. He was completely and irrationally irate that this pudgy man was pointing a gun he barely knew how to use in their direction. Where Blair and Brenton stood defenseless.

His instincts took over and he stalked to the man, taking in the sweat of his brow and the hammering of his chest. Without warning, he backhanded the man and knocked him out cold with his superior strength.

He was dimly aware that, in the background, he heard Blair cry out in horror. At the sight of the man on the floor taking shallow breaths, he realized what he had become.

He'd become this soulless monster while he wasn't looking. He'd become what everyone thought him to be. A creature that acted without remorse, without thoughts and without feelings.

He was officially soulless.

"Chuck?" Blair whispered behind him, and he slowly turned to see her looking at him with wide and frightened eyes. Brenton was sucking on his thumb with his head on Blair's shoulder, staring at him.

Chuck Bass _had_ died and, at that moment, he realized there was no going back. Despite his overwhelming love for her and their son, this was no longer his life.

He realized then and there that he had to let her go. For her own safety. For his son's own safety. Today it was Luther; what would it be tomorrow? Danger would always haunt them as long as he stayed close.

They deserved a happy life in the sun with no darkness and solitude. Brenton needed it; Blair needed it. His life had taken a different path. He had his own destiny to follow; that night in the plane crash had officially split their fates, and there was no going back. The happy Chuck Bass that caressed his wife's growing belly and spoke to his son was no longer there, and he _mourned_ that man.

Blair stepped forward.

"Chuck? I know that face…" She whispered, her sadness evident in her tone. In her arms Brenton sensed his mother's sadness and began to whimper and cry softly into her neck.

"Blair… I need to keep you safe. He's coming. I can feel him… We don't have much time," he murmured to her, reaching out and softly touching his hair.

"Let's run away," she suggested, her eyes bright. "Far away. We can move from place to place, always staying ahead of him."

He gave her a sad smile. "I was born to do this, Blair. I'm not afraid of him. I'm not a coward."

"It's been many years since you've resembled a coward," she told him as she came closer. "I don't want you to fight him."

He nodded slowly. "I'm not the man you remembered, am I?"

Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit it to keep herself under control, this he knew for a fact. She swallowed thickly.

"You've just been through a lot, Chuck, that's all," she nodded at him. "It's been rough, but we will work it out… We always do… I remember a young man once telling me that we were inevitable. Inevitable means unable to be avoided."

He slowly tucked one of her loose hairs behind her ear and kissed her cheek slowly, then stared down at her, petting his son's hair softly. "I'd like to think that somewhere out there, in the endless realms of possibilities, we grew old _together_."

A tear dibbled from her lovely wide eyes and down to scorch his skin.

"Chuck…"

"A place where I wouldn't have to watch life slowly slip out of you… I'd like to think that," he murmured.

"Stop this, please, stop it!" She demanded like the queen she was, and his eyes narrowed. "I can't… I can't, ok? I just can't. You came _back_. I cannot bear it to lose you again. Not when I've had you back…"

He would've responded, but a swift wind came into the bank and he stopped, turning and crouching. "Get behind me!"

Blair quickly scrambled, hiding behind one of the pillars inside of the bolted room.

Chuck bared his fangs, his senses alert, knowing full well there was a presence other than that of his, and it was not human.

"Show yourself!" He demanded into the room. "_Now!_"

Slowly from the shadows emerged a _beautiful_ woman with thick red hair past her waist and dark black eyes.

"What are you?" He demanded, and Blair peaked out from behind the pillar to stare at the beauty before them.

"I think you'd recognize me more in my faded body," she said and, before their eyes, she transformed into the haggard witch that Chuck knew so well.

She chuckled as she hobbled towards them. "Beauty fades, doesn't it?" She asked, laughing, and Chuck felt Blair come forward from her hiding place.

The witch turned and studied back and then looked back at Chuck. "Did I not warn you, vampire? I said do not fall in love, yet you did."

"I was _already_ in love, and you _knew_ it! You counted on my love for your little plan to work," Chuck snapped at her, even angrier at the fact that he couldn't touch her.

"This is true. But I never hid that I had my own agenda," she said calmly. "You knew it from the start." Her visage went back to the beautiful woman she arrived as.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Chuck finally demanded, rounding her.

The witch stared at Blair openly.

"Because he's evil," the witch replied, without missing a beat.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Chuck repeated, not convinced.

"Because –"

"Because she's my _wife_." A voice that sent chills up Chuck's spine came from the dark.

Blair instantly hid back behind the pillar with Brenton. Chuck crouched down low and growled at Luther, who emerged from the shadows with a good thirty or forty vampires around him.

The witch slowly turned and regarded Luther, Chuck stuck in the middle between the two.

"No. Because he _killed _my love. Because he killed my son," the witch finally answered. "And left me for dead."

Chuck swallowed deeply and turned to Luther, who regarded the witch coolly.

"Cara… You've been planning this a long time, darling… How sad. To see your plan fail so spectacularly." Luther said calmly, and Chuck watched eerily as the vampires surrounded the large lobby of the bank.

The witch chuckled. "I don't fail, Luther. Not in this lifetime. Perhaps in others, but not in _this_ one."

Luther growled at her and raised his hand to command his troops. The witch began to shine brightly, so brightly it nearly burnt Chuck's skin.

"I call an Arena!" She cried to them all, and Chuck finally understood how he would be able to walk away. Well, _if_ he were able to walk away, this was the only way. He turned to stare at Blair, who peeked out at him in fear, and nodded at her. This was the _only_ way to get her out safe.

"You stupid bitch, you cannot _call_ an Arena! We're forty years away from one!" Luther roared at her.

The witch chuckled at him. "Not unless a throne is being contested. And tonight a throne is!"

Luther paused and finally stared at Chuck. "Childe, come with me." He commanded, and everything in Chuck's instincts called him to obey his maker. His feet and hands wanted to go to him, but he held himself in check. "Come with me –"

"I, Cara Pendragon, call an Arena on this day to challenge Luther Pendragon from his bloody throne." Cara shouted loud and clear. "To end the tyranny-"

"I don't know if you're aware, but we vampires kinda love tyranny and all things deemed bad by Western society," Luther mocked. "Drinking, smoking, homosexuality, killing – the list goes on."

" – to end the oppression –"

"Yeah, we like that, too," Luther chuckled.

Chuck watched the interaction, unsure of where he stood.

" – to end the fear."

"We _love_ the fear," Luther smirked.

"So I ask for a champion. Who comes forth to challenge the throne?" She cried, and looked directly at Chuck.

Chuck stared back at her and gulped loudly. He suddenly realized this was not his fight; he had other things to worry about. But he would never be able to get Blair and Brenton out any other way.

"No, Chuck!" Blair cried out to him.

"Listen to her, _Chuck_. Listen to your little bitch. Challenging me would be your gravest mistake," Luther nodded.

"Who comes forth to challenge the throne?" The witch repeated loudly.

Chuck and looked directly at Luther.

"You and I settle this outside of any ultimatum placed by that bitch," Luther commanded him.

"Anyone?" Cara tried a third time.

"I, Chuck Bass, do," Chuck repeated slowly, never taking his eyes off his maker.

"No, Chuck!" Blair cried out, and Brenton began to cry in her arms.

Luther roared angrily, crouching himself before Chuck, and his maker's growl was so frightening that he had to stop himself from cowering.

"We have a champion!" Cara cried loudly, rounding them. "There is no interference lest death be risked. They shall be no aiding, and to the winner goes the throne and the glory!"

* * *

To be continued

A/N: There are 3 chapters left if we count the epilogue, so I hope you enjoy the rest of the journey and thank you, as always, for the feedback.

P.S. A lot of explanation about the witch Cara and her involvement will come in the next chapter.


	19. Chapter 19

Soulless  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

"_We are creatures of the underworld, we can't afford to love."_

_Moulin Rouge_

"What do you mean, you helped her escape?" Lily snapped at Serena as she stood before her, hands on her hips.

"Mom, it's been a long day, I'm tired –"

"Serena, this is serious. This is not a childish game," Lily admonished her. "How do you think I felt when I woke to find the baby gone?"

Serena sighed. Yes, Blair was missing and so was Brenton. But, quite honestly, she didn't blame her. They'd placed her in a nut house; separated her from her child. Serena wouldn't be surprised if she was halfway to France right now. It fit Blair.

"I didn't think she would come here and take him without telling you," Serena reasoned.

"Of course she would, Serena, because she's not well. This is why we placed her in the Ostroff center!" Lily yelled at her.

"No, we jumped to conclusions!" Serena yelled back. "Chuck wouldn't have wanted this, and you know it."

Lily blanched at bringing Chuck into the conversation. Though she tended to put a strong front before Blair, Lily was still in mourning over her adopted son. Something only a few select people knew.

"He would have wanted her well, Serena. And don't drag Chuck into this," Lily said coldly.

"You know he wouldn't be happy with what we did!"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore with you," Lily said with finality. "Fine. Blair has Brenton, and I will most likely not be allowed to see my grandchild for years. I hope you're happy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call my husband. His son is missing…"

"Dan?" Serena perked up at this. Sure, she spent the last few months cursing Dan's name with Blair and rolling her eyes at his cute petite little fiancé who was a PhD candidate at Columbia in French History – totally Dan's type of a girl – but that didn't mean she wanted something _bad_ to happen to him.

"Stay out of it," Lily snapped, all too annoyed with her own daughter. "Julie is dead, and Dan is missing."

Serena's blood stood cold. Julie was dead. _Julie_ was dead. The girl with the acne scars and pretty smile was dead. She felt a thick lump in her throat, and a sudden fear filled her. What if Dan was also dead? She was still so confused about what she felt that she never stopped to consider what would happen if Dan died. Would part of her also die, like part of Blair did after Chuck's death? Would she launch into a sudden depression where she thought Dan had come back as a vampire to haunt her? What if Dan was her one great love? Her one true love? She didn't know; she still didn't know or understand so many things about herself, even though she thought she should. Because Blair did. Because Chuck had. Because Nate had recently discovered it. Because Dan always knew who he was. But what did she know? She was a mere 25 years old. Were you supposed to know so much of yourself when you'd just reached a quarter of a century?

"I need to know," Serena cried, clutching her mother's arm.

Lily studied her for a moment and then sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't know much, Serena. Only that Dan is missing, and Jenny found Julie dead."

Words cannot describe desolation. It sounds like the thumping of your heart echoing in your ear. Like you're flushed and can't breathe. As if the world continued spinning and left you behind.

* * *

Blair rushed forward, not thinking for even a second – all that she saw was Chuck dying by Luther's elder and more experienced hand. In her arms Brenton sobbed loudly, pressing his face against her neck, his little hands touching her face.

"Chuck!" She cried out, and he slowly turned to her, walking toward her. He took off his jacket as he reached her. Her eyes were wide and she shook her heard. "Stop, don't do this."

He was silent, but his eyes never left her. "Listen to me," he said carefully.

"No, I won't. You're in no condition to make this ridiculous decision," she spat out in anger. Brenton screamed, and she watched Chuck's jaw twitch.

The beautiful witch came and slid next to him. "A spell of protection has been placed over the woman and your son," she told Chuck quickly.

Blair turned and stared at her. "What are you?"

"I'm a witch," she replied nonchalantly, and Chuck snapped his head towards her.

"You knew all this would happen," he hissed at her. "All along, from the moment you first saw me."

"Some of it I knew then. Some of it I know now. Depends on which lifetime. I don't expect a vampire and a human to understand." She said and glanced at Luther, who had now walked to the middle of the bank lobby wearing only his pants, his fangs elongated and his eyes an eerie yellow hue. Anger radiated off him in waves.

"Listen to me. If anything happens to me…" he began, and Blair grabbed at the lapels of his coat angrily.

"I will handle them," the witch nodded. "I owe you that much."

"Chuck, you listen to me," Blair hissed at him, pulling his face to her.

"MAMA!" Brenton cried, rubbing his eyes sleepily and demanding her attention.

"I want you to stop this," she demanded to him. "This is insane."

Chuck carefully took her small dainty hand in his and pulled back her wrist, smirking slightly at her and kissing the inside of it. "Take care of my son."

Despite her firm grasp on his jacket, despite putting all her strength in that grip, he easily yanked himself away and turned to Luther.

"This way, unless you want the child to see," the witch told Blair from her corner, and Blair turned to glare at the woman.

"Go to hell," Blair snapped at her. Tears threatened to spill forth, but she wouldn't let them. Not today. Not now.

"I've lived there for quite some time. Completely underrated," she smirked at her. "Bring the child. The vampires can smell him, and I can only protect for so long before the new King is born."

Blair turned back to Chuck, who was walking towards Luther, his back straight and rigid as he shed his coat and dropped it on the floor.

"Come," the witch pulled at her.

"I won't leave him," Blair insisted, glaring at the witch.

"He was born to do this," the witch explained. "In this lifetime, he was."

Blair looked at her, up and down, her heart hammering and her child crying. "What does that mean?"

"Perhaps one day you shall know," the witch nodded and pulled at her hand.

* * *

Words cannot describe fear. It is the life-force by which all living things survive. And it was that source of life which he was full of now. To have no fear would be to have lost his humanity, and his humanity was the one thing he was sure of. He was sure he _smelled_ of humanity.

"You're weaker than you were before," Luther taunted him. "The strong vampire I created and molded is now gone. Crippled by that _human bitch_. You're drenched in her love."

Chuck slowly crouched before his master.

One's maker was to be revered; they represented the source of all one's strength. A childe, no matter how long he lived, would never be as powerful as his maker.

In old vampire lore, there had been only a few who rebelled against their makers. Those few have been written about in the blood of the scribes chained in the basement of the King's home, but it had been 1,000 years since such a thing had happened. The last name to be written in blood had been Luther Pendragon, who killed his own maker, Arthur Pendragon, with a silver sword.

Chuck Bass had no sword. He had no weapon. He had his bare hands, and on his shoulders lay the weight of his future actions. Such things can both humble a man and make him doubt himself.

"I do not want to kill you, Luther," he whispered to his maker. His maker's mere presence made him feel like a fledging. Like he'd often felt in his father's presence. Inadequate. A little cub that hardly sported any fur; a whimpering child clutching and begging for mercy.

Bart Bass had never laid a hand on him. But sometimes Chuck wished he had. A strong smack across the face. A shove. A touch. But no… Bart's eyes had merely turned an icy-blue as he _glanced_ at his son with deep-rooted discontent. That had hurt more than any physical pain. It had made him the troubled teen that Blair longed for. That Blair wanted to save with her kisses and her doe-brown eyes. For Chuck, that life had begun and ended five hundred years ago, and still Luther's gaze took him back to the boy he once was. Desperately seeking to be loved. Desperately seeking approval.

Luther stared down at him with disgust and snarled at him so loudly that Chuck could still smell Humphrey's blood encased in the crevices of his teeth. Flashes of Blair's screaming face came to him when they were back at the hotel and, springing to his feet, Chuck grabbed Luther by the waist and pushed him clear across the room. His sire dug his sharp nails into his back, and Chuck roared, trashing his sire off him.

Both vampires went back to facing one another and Luther chuckled, licking Chuck's blood from his nails.

"Sweet," he murmured, and Chuck elongated his fangs, hissing. It was Luther that he was fighting, yet all Chuck could see was this incredible anger at all these people who were supposed to take care of him but had only left him cold and abandoned, leaving a young man to pave his life and his hopes with his bare hands even if those hands ended up raw and destroyed. Destroyed like the world around him.

With the flashing visage of the people he hated in his life, he leapt up and grabbed Luther by the head, snapping it to the side – but the elder vampire yanked his hair back until part of it was left in his hand. Chuck's nails dug into the man's face and he roared. Luther yanked him off and threw him clear across the room, making Chuck land on a counter and drop down with a loud thud on the floor.

Luther leapt to the counter mere seconds after Chuck landed and grabbed his bent head, yanking it up and punching Chuck in the face a few times. Chuck grabbed the man's legs and pulled them down, making Luther lose his balance and land on his back. Chuck flew up and over the counter, turning and preparing himself for Luther's next attack.

Luther didn't waste time; the man grabbed one of the chairs for the tellers and threw it at Chuck furiously. The chair knocked Chuck on the head, but he shook himself off. It was enough for Luther to be before him and, grabbing his neck with his bare hands, he squeezed him. There was no danger of asphyxiation. The danger was actually of decapitation. Chuck grabbed at his sire's hands, trying to lodge him off him, but his sire's hands were strong, more powerful, more full of vehement hate.

Chuck gasped, feeling the tendons in his neck protest, feeling Luther taking his life just the same as he had given him life that night long ago. It was then that Chuck recalled a memory.

A memory that happened a long time ago.

_It was their first fight as newlyweds. The last five months had been indescribable. Sometimes he would stay awake after she slept and gaze down at her, repeating the words over and over in his head. "My wife." It was funny how much that word rhymed with "life". She slept in his arms either naked or in her meticulously chosen lace sleeping gown, and he would watch her. For five months they didn't really fight; they argued about things like which movie to watch, where to go for brunch, if plastic surgery was something she would ever do, visiting Eleanor – such trifling things. No REAL fights. None of that. _

_They'd forget their arguments mere minutes after they started. Their hunger for one another was all-consuming. Some weekends they were never see, but just lounged around and made love until responsibility forced them from their bed. Magic months, that's what he liked to call them. Magic months filled with magic hours. _

_However, on one fine Friday, after he had gotten off early from the office, planning to surprise her with a bouquet of her favorite peonies, a bottle of champagne and Henri – an all star chef who was cooking a fine meal for them to have in their newly decorated rooftop lounge – he'd encountered something he wasn't quite expecting. It was her last year at Columbia, she was a hair's breadth from graduating, and he'd found her laughing – too – close to a simpering, badly dressed art fool. _

_It was the way her hand had landed on the guy's forearm when she laughed at something he said. It infuriated him, and he blindly strode to them without thinking and punched the guy as hard as he could._

_She'd screamed his name and asked him to stop. But he was so angry. She was – his – wife. His._

_Needless to say, they had caused quite a scandal on the library steps of Columbia and he had left her there, asking Arthur to drive him around the city. She called his phone – once – and he'd ignored it. She had Nate call him, and he also ignored that._

_All he could think as Arthur drove was that he'd fucked them up. Again. He was always fucking them up, but this time he'd fucked up not only their relationship but their marriage. His hand throbbed and he had nowhere to go. The entire city smelled of her. So he decided to head to the Hamptons months early._

_As Arthur opened the door for him, he stepped out and stared at the beautiful home he'd gotten her. White picket fence, French doors, neatly manicured lawn – but in the darkness of the day it felt haunted. Haunted with all the memories that they had planned on making there. Memories of years to come, children running in the yard, pompous parties filled with socialites and mediocre celebrities. None of it was happening anymore because he'd fucked it up. Most people who knew them thought they wouldn't make it. They sought to prove them wrong and now, after all this time, he'd done quite the opposite. So he entered the lonely house as the housekeeper fluttered around him. He simply mumbled that he was going to be in his study. Drinking his imported Scotch._

_He drank until a pouring rain descended upon the estate. He stared out into the rain, splattering against the energy-efficient windows. It fit his mood exceedingly well. He wondered how long it would be before she had her lawyers slap him with a divorce. Before she had Serena slap him for being an idiot. Or any of the other many things that were coming. He didn't care what happened next, because he had destroyed it. The one good thing in his life, he'd killed it. Again._

_When the door opened, he presumed it was Anna, the housekeeper, coming to check on him. He quickly barked for her to leave, but the intruder continued her course, properly annoying him and making him turn to stare at her._

_He felt like vomiting. All the alcohol in his system churned, and he wanted to die._

"_Blair?" He whispered, not sure if he was seeing things._

_He saw her shoulders slump when she took him in. She was drenched in rain. He was drunk. Both were shivering._

"_Sometimes I hate you," she said softly, and a thickness coated his throat. "But it's those moments that I hate you so much, that I wish I'd never see you again, that make me realize you can only have that type of hate for someone you love so much." She took a deep breath and hugged herself. She looked thin and pale. She shifted. "I came to tell you that. I'm going to go to sleep."_

_He watched her turn and sat there for a moment, her presence no longer intoxicating his thoughts. What's a man to do? A man can quite literally lose himself when he loves someone this much. It fills him and fools him into believing he can be a better man than he really is. It's as deceptive as the sea, lulls you to its cool waters, invites you to drink, invites you to swim, to know joy – but it can easily drown you; it can easily lose you. And you will never be found again. How many men were lost at sea, lulled by the promises of a beautiful woman? Perhaps he too was a lonely sailor who drank and was never with a woman too long and, without knowing it, he too had seen his own siren and willingly jumped into the eternal seas. Perhaps he didn't realize it, and he had drowned a long time ago. _

_The fear that clutched at his heart at the thought of her going to bed upset spurred him into action. He nearly ran (stumbled) to the hallway to find her walking slowly towards their bedroom, her pale wet hand on the railing of the stairs. He quickly came up behind her and embraced her from behind, burying his face into her hair._

_She stiffened, but he held her closer, pulling her to him, pressing himself intimately against her, curving into her. She smelled like rain and tears instead of her usual scent of amber and musk. Slowly, she placed her hands over his arms and held him back, her body relaxing against him; she turned her head so that he could press his lips against her neck. One of her hands slowly buried itself into his hair, and she yanked lightly. A small punishment. _

"_I told you I would be a bad husband," he whispered, swaying them. There they were, in the middle of a home they had yet to live in, outside of any darkrooms. In the middle of something._

_She slowly turned in his arms and captured his lips against hers, battling against him. It was at that moment, inebriated beyond repair, that Chuck Bass understood the meaning of someone loving them just as they were. He had always felt he was not good enough for Blair, that she walked a step before him, that she learned things before he did. That she could easily leave him and go for something better. Which is why he taunted her whenever they broke up. Taunt her with the fact that she would get bored, that she needed and deserved something more, because he desperately hoped that something was him. Preach it before you believe it, this was his motto. However, in that moment of passion, gasping against the walls of their Hamptons home, he realized she loved him just as he was. She didn't want a changed Chuck, she didn't want a "good" Chuck; she didn't want a sappy white-bread Chuck. She wanted *him*. Morally ambiguous, overly selfish, demon-haunted, capitalistic, socially chauvinistic, seldom-loved Chuck. The Chuck she knew and loved. It is hard for a person who has grown up with love to understand how very hard it is for a single individual to love themselves when no one around them has ever made the effort. A person who grows up with love can easily love; love is a staple of their person. Love is normal and organic; it can be written about and can be told to various people in their lifetime. However, to never know love – never feel it, never experience it in its most basic and instinctual way – makes a person believe that no matter who claims to love them as an adult, it can't really be love. Because who could ever love such a beast? But Blair? Blair loved him. He didn't know why, he hardly thought he deserved it. Even when she pledged herself to him before all of New York's society and some undesirables, he always believed she would leave._

The feeling of her that night, him drunk and her wet, the two of them passionately loving one another was the memory that took over Chuck's mind as Luther choked him with his bare hands. A rare strength that he himself did not know he possessed surged inside him. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at his maker, ignoring the unbearable pain in the tendons of his neck. He slowly brought his hands around his sire's wrists and dug his nails into they skin until they penetrated it, pushing away at the muscle. The grip tightened and blood gushed forth, sending Luther screaming and stumbling back, his hands in the air.

Chuck didn't miss a beat and lunged to grab his sire's head. Luther tried to shove him off, but Chuck didn't budge. He grabbed Luther's head and slammed it down twice on the counter, destroying the counter with his skull. Then he jumped up, grabbing one of the metal posts that banks use to establish their customer lines and slammed it down on the floor, losing its base from the impact. What was left was a sharp metal pole, which Chuck flipped around and rammed into Luther's chest once, twice. Luther screamed, grabbing the pole with both hands as it protruded from his chest. No vampire could walk away from that. Chuck was pretty certain he had shattered his spine.

"Childe…" Luther begged, pinned to the teller's desk.

Chuck sneered down at him. He'd finally become the vampire Luther had made him be. Ruthless and powerful. Chuck grabbed another of the metal stands and gave it the same treatment, creating another sharp, sword-like metal pole.

He walked around the desk so that he could stare down to his maker, writing in agony.

"You couldn't just let us go, could you?" Chuck whispered. "You had to try to control me. You may have known all there was to know about Mack Pendragon, but let me tell you something you didn't know about Chuck Bass. You don't _fuck_ with those he loves."

And with that, Chuck bent and buried his fangs into his sire's neck, sucking the life out of him. In five hundred years, he'd never been allowed to take from his sire's neck. No one had fed from Luther's neck in a millennium. The blood gushed inside of him, that sweet elixir of sire's blood which filled him with indescribable power, prowess and clarity. He suckled until there was hardly anything left. Until his own muscles began to spasm, and then he pulled back, filled with vigor and self-awareness. He took a deep breath and looked down to his sire, whose pale lilac lids closed.

Luther let out a cynical laugh, his voice low and wispy, weakened by the blood loss. "You can kill me, but you still get no happy ending. At the end of the day, you're still a vampire and she's not. She's young now, so it won't matter. But she _will_ care when she turns 50." And he let out a horrible, evil laugh that spilled blood from his mouth. The anger that took over Chuck's veins could only be described as a volcanic eruption. The heat flushed him and, without planning it, he lifted the pole and swiftly brought it down on his maker's neck.

The head rolled and within moments it disintegrated into dark, gray ash.

There was a deafening silence around him and in his heart. He'd made his choice. He closed his eyes, wanting to simply lie down and never wake. It would be easier that way.

"KING!" A female voice shouted.

"KING!" A male one.

And another. And another.

And before he knew it, the vampires that had come to watch the spectacle emerged from the darkness and began to chant his name, over and over, swearing allegiance by baring fangs and bowing their heads.

From behind him, the witch came, the originator of the chanted words, and she continued. "KING! KING!"

He stared at her, and then turned to find Blair slowly walking into the lobby with sleeping Brenton in her arms. Around them, the chanting was booming as the vampire welcomed their new king. Her face, his wife's face, was that of utter despair. Her hair was in disarray, her clothing torn and her eyes watery.

"Get her home," Chuck told the witch, and his pale yellow eyes told her all she needed to know. She nodded.

* * *

Blair came closer, and the witch turned to her. "Come, I will you take you home."

"Chuck!" Blair reached out to him, but he turned away as the witch grabbed her arm. Her heart was beating furiously, and she desperately wanted Chuck to assure her that they would get past this. The display she'd seen from the security room was enough to turn her stomach, and she began to disassociate her Chuck from the Chuck creating such horrible chaos. She went into typical Blair mode and selectively forgot things that didn't fit well.

"He's fed on sire's blood," the witch urged her. "You must come; he will find you when it is safe."

Blair's eyes lingered on his, and she noticed the pallor in them, the raw animal. So she allowed the witch to drag her, but her heart… had been left behind.

* * *

Arriving safely at her lobby, she felt she had just come from another world. Everything was so normal and in order. It was the life she knew, the life that greeted her every morning, the life that she had often loved and hated. In the bright light of the building lobby, she felt she didn't know where she belonged anymore. Behind her the witch stopped, not crossing the threshold.

"Do you have to be invited in?" Blair asked dubiously. The beautiful woman nodded.

"This is the end of my journey with you. For right now," she simply said.

"Will I see you again?" Blair asked, holding her sleeping baby closer as the witch stared lovingly at the babe.

"Yes. I dare say you will, but that will be lifetimes from now," the witch explained solemnly.

"How long before the sire's blood leaves his system?" Blair asked her.

"A night. He will come to you tomorrow." The witch turned and began walking away.

And with that, she disappeared into the night, the magic scent she carried with her vanishing as well.

It was chaos when she arrived back to her apartment. Serena, Lily and Nate were all there, along with Dorota and her mother. She was bombarded with questions, hugs and demands. Brenton woke with all the chaos and threw a tantrum. He was tired and no one seemed to let him have a full night's rest, so Dorota quickly grabbed him and put him to bed, making the baby very happy.

The happiness of finding Blair and the baby was soon cut short when the ominous call came from Rufus. Needless to say, Lily quickly left to be with her husband and, between Eleanor and Blair, they calmed Serena down enough to give her a Valium. This left the blonde crying softly on her side on her bed in Blair's home. Blair stared at her as her shoulders shook and knew _exactly_ what she was going through.

She had expected Nate to go home, most especially since the last conversation he'd had with Dan had been to damn him to hell. But Nate quietly shed his coat, pulled his shoes off and climbed in behind Serena. Blair closed the door behind her; she couldn't deal with all of this right now. She just couldn't.

The next day went by in a blur. She slept late. It wasn't until 1pm that her mother woke her and urged her to eat something, sitting on the bed with her and making sure she ate all of her sugar-free oatmeal and sliced banana. When she was done, she slipped under the covers with her and let Blair rest her head against her chest.

"Everything is so awful, mom," she whispered to her mother, with whom she'd barely connected in years. Eleanor, breaking out of her mold, kissed the top of her head and nodded that she agreed. Brenton, who had also slept late, was brought to Blair's bed and quickly latched on to her breast while staring curiously at his grandmother. All these people were suddenly in his mother's bed when he woke; he didn't know what to make of it all.

"You know I don't approve of this," Eleanor told Blair once Brenton was happily sated and showing her grandmother his baby teeth.

"I know, mother," Blair nodded, ruffling her baby's hair.

From the police coming and asking them questions about Dan's death to Serena being hysterical and dramatic, the day had left Blair anxious and morose. She tired Brenton out to make sure he went to bed early and, sure enough, by 7pm the baby's head was drooping. After bathing him, singing to him and making sure he was asleep she quickly retired to her room, letting out a loud sigh. Finding Chuck on her bed, his eyes intently taking her in, somehow brightened the whole thing.

And she dimly wondered if this was how it would be. All day, she would do her normal activities only to have her dead husband comfort her at the end of it. She couldn't help it if, in the back of her mind, she felt like it would all be a half-life. In his eyes, she saw he felt it, too.

* * *

To be concluded

a/n: I am sorry the updates are coming but once a week, RL gets in the way. I will try to have the final chapter and epilogue up soon :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

**PLEASE READ. Please read the entire chapter AND the epilogue.**

**

* * *

**

"_The heart dies, a slow death,_

_shedding each hope like leaves..._

_... until one day there are_

_none. No hopes. Nothing remains."_

_Arthur Golden_

At the end of the day there is nothing sweeter than holding and being held by someone you love. So that's what she did, she walked to him and leaned in, hugging him as he sat on the bed, his face buried between her breasts.

"Are you ok, now?" she whispered against his hair and she felt him barely nod in acknowledgement.

"How's my son?" he muffled into her blouse. Blair ran her fingers through his thick locks and shrugged.

"He's still a baby, there's plenty of time for him to be filled with good happy memories of you and I," she assured him. "It was mostly the noises that scared him, nothing more."

He slowly lifted his head to look at her with those deep dark eyes of his.

"You ok?" she asked, still concerned by how she had left him. Slowly, he nodded.

He had _that_ look. She'd seen it before. When his father died, when he lost his hotel, that same look of complete and utter devastation.

"Don't lie to me, Bass." she urged him, pulling him to her. "We're going to be ok, we're together again. All of us, we're going to be fine."

He sighed audibly and pulled her closer to him. "You always were the best part of me. Saved me time and time again from myself."

She had a tiny smile to give him and touched his cheeks. "Keep playing the damsel in distress and I'll keep being your white knight."

He chuckled slightly but just stared at her and she couldn't read him, she couldn't understand what he was thinking. She usually could. It was usually easy.

"What happens now? Now that you're… _King_," she whispered.

His throat worked up and down, considering his words. "I killed my maker…" he said softly.

"You had no choice," she reminded him. "You did what you had to do."

He closed his eyes tightly against the memory of what he had done. "You don't seem to understand," he explained. "He that kills his maker is dammed."

Blair studied his face and realized he really believed this; he was really being tormented by such things. "You're not dammed." She said forcefully, touching his face, caressing it and trying to bring him back to her. "You're not dammed."

But there was something in his eyes, something akin to fatigue. "I have lived… five hundred years." He whispered to her, his eyes were pitch black. "And the only time I can remember with vivid clarity is every moment I've spent with you."

A smile tugged at her face. Blair Waldorf was nothing is not a masochist for his pretty and romantic words. She bathed in them. In a few syllables she could forgive him endless errors.

"That's what love does," she explained, if there was someone who considered themselves an expert in love it was Blair. She'd studied it for years, embracing black and white films that ended with the heroine wrapped in the loving embrace of her true love. She firmly believed in this and she believed that this story would also end as such. "Love makes the world come alight. Pushes the darkness away. Gives you something worth living for."

And with her last words his eyes acquired a sense of understanding. She could tell in the way they lit up and studied every inch of her face, as if he were memorizing it.

* * *

Something worth living for.

The words reverberated inside of Chuck as he finally realized what he had to do. It was the most selfless act he'd ever performed and if his maker were to hear his thoughts now he would be appalled.

Soulless creatures didn't love, didn't care for others and most certainly didn't believe in self-sacrifice.

With his resolve in mind he took her in, remembering her the way she was now. Soft and smelling of the baby, her breast slightly swollen, her waist now trim and slim. Her hips rounded and perfect, her legs softened with aloe.

Her hair cascaded around them like a curtain that would shield them from the harsh reality of the world. It was with such an intoxication that he took her. Reached up and captured her lips with his own, kissing her passionately and with vigor. His hands tangled in her hair and he captured with the tips of his fingers that most coveted place right behind her neck. Where soft hairs grew and her skin was most pale.

Her hands quickly wrapped themselves around him and he lifted them up, her legs wrapping around him effortlessly. He continued kissing her until she was breathless and he had to remind himself that she needed to breathe. They pulled back and stared at one another as the dark night surrounded them.

"I love you," he whispered against her. "No matter what others may say I need _you_ to know that I love you. I have _always_ loved you."

She nodded, eager for his mouth and her need taking hold of her, making her impatient but he slowed them down. He needed to remember this. He needed to always remember the feel of her skin against his, the way her mound molded against him. He placed her down on the bed and she arched up, reaching for him. He lay himself over her, letting the weight of his body press her down, bury into him. She grasped at his face, kissing him, moaning against him.

He grabbed her hips, pulling them firmly against him and then massaged her upper thighs, that lovely part of her body that he could never stop touching. Slowly he slid his hands down to her knees and hooked his fingers under them, pulling them apart and up. She gasped as he pulled her butt flush against the top of thighs and shoved her skirt up to her waist. She tossed her head from side to side, moaning his name. He could see her clenching and un-clenching her walls from this angle and he desperately wanted to taste her. To remember such elixir. So he did just that. With one hand he ripped her panties off and then dunked in between her legs, latching on to the sweet swollen folds making her groan loudly.

She grasped at his hair, grasped at him.

She did taste as amazing as he remembered. Her juices always sported a sort of melon flavor that he couldn't get enough of so he lapped them up with a near urgency that had her screaming into a pillow and once he knew she would come he elongated his fangs and softly bit her in her inner thigh making her trash and let out a soundless scream that took all of her strength. She lay limp in his arms as he suckled at her wound, lapping it with his tongue. She was still shuddering and shaking with the aftereffects of the powerful orgasm.

"Like that?" he smirked down at her.

"You cheeky bastard," she whispered but there was not a hint of annoyance in neither her voice or her face.

* * *

Hands down the best orgasm she'd had in her life and Chuck had given her some seriously explosive ones. She seized to think, seized to breathe all she could focus was on how amazing his tongue felt in her, around her. Pleasuring her in ways she'd never deemed possible. She had to hand it to him; Chuck Bass certainly knew how to give head. This she had discovered, of course, one afternoon after school when he had sneaked up to her room and found her changing out of her uniform. He'd nearly thrown her in bed, yanked her panties off and buried his head between her legs. She'd, of course, yelped in protest. This was just something ladies did _not_ do. But the moment his tongue found her clit all said thoughts had flown out of her head and she might have yelled 'fuck' a few times. The fact that they were sneaking behind everyone's back made it even more risqué. She'd come harder than she ever expected, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. There she lay; limp as he slowly raised his head, smirking at her. He had been a cocky fifteen year old then. Slowly he licked his lips and fingers.

"_So that's what a Queen tastes like. I'd always wondered," he murmured and she had promptly used the rest of her strength to kick him._

"_You're –never- doing that again. Ever." She said, breathlessly. _

"_Oh you'll want it again." He assured her, chuckling. He had been right. On nights she felt he needed to be punished she'd push him down and smirk at him. Not like it was a real punishment, he was all too willing to slave his mouth away to her demands._

And then there was the time when Serena and Nate walked in on them. Oh yes. She had been five months pregnant and _so_ horny. It was Thanksgiving and everyone who was close to them had been invited over to Eleanor's. After slaving away all day, giving orders to the staff on how _exactly_ she had wanted the meal to be handled she was needy and impatient. So she shoved him to her old room, the site of the first crime, lay back on the silk quilt and slowly opened her legs, smirking at him.

"_I feel dirty, Bass," she murmured and his eyes had glazed over with lust at the sight of her slowly trailing her fingers up her dress. "Wont you clean me up?" she asked, coyly. It didn't take long for him to shove her dress up, get rid of the panties and burry his nose into her mound. So lost they were that they didn't hear (and didn't expect) Serena and Nate to also be searching for a private area. It wasn't until the blonde duo cried out in horror that Blair opened her eyes and Chuck lifted his head._

"_OH MY GOD!" Serena cried, covering her eyes._

"_Wow, Blair, you're really, really pregnant," Nate could just murmur at the sight of his ex-girlfriend nearly naked._

_Chuck scrambled to cover her up but Blair was too upset, still very aroused and brought to no satisfaction. She needed them – gone._

"_GET OUT!" That was all she needed to scream before they scampered off. Chuck turned to her, his face flushed pink and moisture on his lips._

"_You made no effort to cover yourself when Nate came in," he snapped._

_Blair glared angrily at him from over her belly. "Chuck Bass, I am horny, fat, indecent and now humiliated for life – all because of you! The least you can do is get back in there and finish the job!"_ _He had been right. She had always asked for it._

And now adding his love bite to the procedure had officially made this her most potent orgasm to date. He was still gently lapping at the small wound on her leg and he finished it by pressing a soft kiss to it then he slowly crawled up the bed, helping her take off her blouse. His erection pressed against her side and she murmured in appreciation, still too numb to move or help him she let him get rid of her clothing and left her in her bra, his mouth finding her pebbled nipple over the soft lace. She smiled, turned to him and captured his lips with hers.

* * *

Blair had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm, nestled into him, burning him with her human warmth. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, letting his nose linger into her skin, feeling how soft and pliable she was. She was so very precious to him that at times it felt as if the feeling itself would overwhelm him and consume all that he was.

"Chuck?" she murmured, still very much asleep.

"Shhh…" he whispered to her, massaging her scalp and making her sigh happily. He instantly heard when Brenton woke in the next room and he began whimpering and calling for Blair. Blair didn't hear him but Chuck did. He slowly extracted himself from Blair's side and padded down the hallway, careful that the rest of the household remained asleep – which they did.

When he entered Brenton's nursery the baby was standing up on the crib, suckling on his pacifier with tear tracks down his cheeks and staring at Chuck.

"Dada," he said softly, muffled behind his pacifier.

Chuck slowly went to him, this felt strange. Something that at one point or another he would've thought normal but now it just felt alien, as if he were staring down at his body performing this act. Brenton held out his arms to his father and beckoned him with his little fingers.

"Dada," he repeated again and finally Chuck reached forward and grasped his little warm body, lifting him up from the crib. He held him at arm's length and stared at the child that looked so much like him that it was impossible for him to deny him, even if he wanted to.

Brenton kicked his legs a bit and whimpered, reaching for his face. Chuck finally acquiesced and held him to him, letting his small body warm his much cooler one. They'd not had a moment, just them two. Blair had always been around and this felt fantastic. The fact that he was holding _his_ son and his son loved him in such an unquestioning way warmed him to his very center. He wondered if Bart ever held him like this as a child or did he just leave the nannies do what they had been hired to do? He often pondered these things growing up, especially when he would see a father and son at the park.

Chuck placed a hand under his bum to keep him from sliding and the other hand slowly made its way to his soft, small head. Brenton whipped his runny nose against Chuck's bare chest and then sighed, suckling happily on his pacifier as Chuck unintentionally rocked him to calm him. He spotted a rocking chair in the corner of the room and slowly went to it, sitting down with the baby in his arms. Brenton accommodated himself in his father's lap until he was staring up at him with innocent brown eyes.

Chuck rocked them hesitantly at first and then gained more courage, a small smile tugging at his lips as Brenton discovered his chest hair and began running his tiny fingers in it.

"This," Brenton murmured.

"Hair," Chuck explained to him. "Don't worry, you're my son. You'll also get some of your own."

"This," Brenton said again and then smiled at Chuck as the hairs tickled the palm of his hand. And then the baby leaned his head to his chest, his eyes dropping a bit. Chuck reached out and touched his small head, caressing his hair.

"You're the man of the house now," he told him softly. "I need you to take care of your mother."

Brenton just looked at him, completely unaware of what he was saying.

"And you have to know that I didn't leave because I wanted. I left to keep you safe," he explained and he felt the oddest feeling in his throat. One he hadn't felt in half a millennia. "You're going to have a son of your own one day, I know, I saw him…"

Brenton reached up and touched Chuck's face. "And when you finally have your son and your wife you'll understand the sacrifices one must make. I'm going to make sure you live a long and happy life, son." And with that he grabbed the baby's hand and kissed it, he stood and took him to Blair's bedroom.

Blair was still asleep and he slowly slipped both of them under the covers next to her. When Brenton spotted her he instantly perked up.

"Mama," he told Chuck, as if explaining to him who exactly she was.

"Hummm?" Blair murmured and woke, staring up at Chuck and the baby. "Oh, did he wake up? I didn't hear him."

"It's fine, I got him. We've been talking," Chuck explained as the baby crawled to Blair and cuddled against her, seeking her breast.

Blair, who was already naked, let him lay next to her and Chuck watched in a bit of fascination as his son latched on to her breast and began feeding. He remembered with clarity Blair researching all the benefits of breast feeding when she found out she was pregnant and how she claimed she would breastfeed until 14 months, much to everyone's horror except for him.

"You did it, you kept at it," he nodded and she smiled, running her hands over the baby's hair.

"He's very healthy," she murmured. "My doctor is very impressed. My mother is horrified. And so is Serena, she just doesn't say it as much. Dorota is my one supporter on this, she said in Poland this is a common practice in her family."

Chuck slid in behind Brenton, sandwiching him between them and stared down at the beautiful scene before him.

"I love you," he finally murmured after a while of silence and of staring down at their son. "I love you both."

Brenton kicked and Blair smiled over at Chuck. "Come here," she whispered, pulling him to her and she kissed him softly. Brenton stopped feeding and stared up at his parents, confused at no longer being the center of their attention.

It was an hour that Chuck would remember for years and years to come. They spent it in the dark room, the three of them in bed as Blair softly sang to Brenton, lulling him to sleep, their warmth filled him completely and for a moment he felt his heart beat again. He felt human, as if he were part of them. Slowly Blair began to doze along with Brenton who was already asleep, snuggled safe between them.

"Wake me before you leave," she said to him and he nodded. He nodded and agreed though he had no intention of falling through. "I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked so quietly he barely heard her. Once more, he nodded and said not a word.

It took all of him to rise from the bed, to go back to the reality that was. Leaving the safety of their warmth, the familiarity of their beating hearts. And he backed away, forcing himself to do so. Backing away and remembering the very first night he saw Blair and Brenton when he arrived in New York. As a stranger staring at them from the outside in, watching them sleep. And just as he found them he left them.

He closed the door slowly behind him and peered at them through the curtains.

"I don't want her to forget completely," he said into the night and behind him the witch emerged from the shadows. "She wouldn't want that."

"It'll be as if a pleasant dream," the witch nodded. "But not enough to haunt her."

Chuck's jaw tightened as he watched Blair turn in the bed, seeking his warmth but it wasn't there. Even if he had stayed his warmth would never be there.

"The council awaits you, my lord," the witch whispered and he gazed a moment longer at his once upon a time family and then leapt off the building into the night. The sounds of the witch chanting resonated in his ears.

* * *

He hardly concentrated on the meeting before him, it was a blur of people paying their allegiances to the new throne, paying him compliments, others seeing him as a sort of messiah of their time. A fledgling to destroyed his maker of 1500 yrs, this had never been seen or heard of. By the time the ceremonial feeding had ended and he was finally allowed to retire he made it to his quarters to find a teen-fledgling kneeling by the foot of his bed.

"Sire," the male said in a deep voice and offered his neck. Chuck sighed, walking around him and directly towards the Scotch he had brought in to the room.

"Rise," he commanded to the kneeling man.

The man did, his blond hair flopping over his face.

"Diego," Chuck smiled slightly. He had been fond of his blond companion when they were young and if there was one thing that he remembered was Diego's quick learning and his sense of wisdom well beyond his years. "I have a task for you."

"Of course, sire," Diego nodded.

"I have some humans you will be in charge of keeping safe. I will need weekly reports and immediate contact if I need to intervene. This is a very secret operation that _no one_ is to know about. No one, am I understood?" Chuck asked carefully. Diego slowly nodded at his new King.

"Yes, sire," Diego responded.

"Her name is Blair Bass and her son Brenton Bass. You are to see that they come to no harm. Ever," Chuck finished and threw back his Scotch, fiery against his throat. "They are precious to me and they are to live a long life." With that Chuck exposed his wrist and beckoned the fledgling. "Drink, childe."

Diego was doubtful but when he saw that Chuck didn't bulge he quickly went to him and drank greedily from the King's blood, the stronger male's blood making the fledgling more and more quick and aware. Chuck finally pulled him back and ordered for Diego a redhead so that he may enjoy her. In a way, he was doing to Diego the same thing that Luther had done to him. Cared for him, made him feel important and given him his heart's desire. He supposed everyone had an agenda. Everyone.

* * *

When she woke she found that she had a pounding headache. She groaned and turned and then yelped when wet little lips attached themselves to her. She opened her eyes and found Brenton innocently staring up at her as he fed himself. She quickly coddled him, pulling him to her and kissing him.

"Mama," he murmured.

It took her a moment to shake the dream off her yet she couldn't. It was embedded in her. She'd often dreamt about Chuck. Often felt as if he were there watching them but it now had been a week since she kept waking still remembering these dreams with vivid clarity. The dreams were both arousing and heart-warming.

She sighed, she had promised Serena that she would visit Dan's grave with her, the blonde had been too distraught to go to the funeral and now spent her days sleeping until 3 or 4 pm. Blair would be worried if Nate hadn't been such a constant. Even Carter had shown up and her friend had dissolved sobbing in his arms without him saying a word.

"Guilt does terrible things to people," Her father had murmured to her the previous day after he went with her to have her stitches removed. He then took her and Brenton out for scones and tea at _Marguerite's_.

Blair had nodded in agreement, not saying much on Serena's situation. She didn't expect her friend to heal right away, she after all knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. She knew their memories haunted you and you thought of all the things you would do differently if you could turn back time. If she could turn back time she would go to that moment Chuck was packing as she lay in bed, her large belly protruding from her body. She had urged him to go, she was determined that she was fine and wouldn't go into labor. He had been nervous about leaving her and he had nearly stopped packing about five times but she herself had grabbed the ties from his hands and placed them in the suitcase and ordered Dorota to pack his work laptop and work papers.

"Sweetheart, are you ok?" her father had pulled her from her memories and she had smiled and nodded as Brenton demanded loudly that his grandfather give him the rest of the vanilla scone that was so close yet far away from his short arms.

Blair chuckled at her son's antics and handed the baby the crumbly cake. By the time they had left the café Brenton had more cookie crumbs on his cheeks than in his stomach but he looked so happy that she didn't mind causing more work for the nannies.

So Blair had put on a brave face and ventured with Serena to the graveyard. She had left Brenton with her mother and Cyrus and held hands with Serena as they made their way a small little slope. When Serena asked her for some time she had nodded and walked in the small drizzling rain to a path she knew well. Before she knew it she stood before Chuck's grave.

_Charles Bartholomew Bass_

_Beloved husband, father, brother and son. Beloved man._

_R.I.P._

She felt her throat thicken, not that she had not been here before. She had, she pulled from her pocket a strange blur of colors on a paper. Brenton was beginning to color and it was a garbled mess. He had asked her this morning where 'Dada' was and she had quickly pulled the picture she showed him each mother. He had shook his head and stubbornly said "No". Which had left her at a loss. She kneeled and left his son's painting at his grave.

"He asked about you today," she murmured to the stone and swallowed. "The dreams of you keep getting stranger and stranger… I'd like to think that in some other life we lived happily ever after."

She stayed silent, crouching daintily by his grave until Serena came up behind her.

"How do you do it, B?" she asked her, sitting next to her, not caring about the wet soil. Blair turned to her, finally sitting down also not caring about soiling her clothes. They leaned heavily against one another and were silent as they stared at the grave.

"One day you wake up and it's not as hard," she finally responded. "You finally realize that you have to live. I have to live for my son. For _his_ son because it's the last bit of him that he left me. And if I didn't have Brenton I'd live because he'd want me to. I'd have to live for me."

Serena nodded, resting her head against Blair's shoulder, Blair reached out and grasped at her hand and kissed her head.

"I love you, B," Serena murmured.

"I love you, S," Blair responded.

The truth is that the world doesn't expect you to be able to survive when someone you love dies. The world has an impression that you will cave, that you will succumb to sorrow. Passages about loving and loosing make the mind a field of ideals, it makes little girls hope for a happy ending until something happens that shakes you to the core and all you have left are memories.

Blair Bass never loved again like she loved Chuck Bass but she did indeed love again. It was a different love, one of companionship and appreciation. She was in her mid-30's when this finally happened, she met a man much older than her and she let him be her companion. He loved Brenton like Cyrus loved her and this was more than enough for her. Brenton grew strong and smart, like his father. The older he got the more and more he resembled him until one day she caught herself nearly staring at Chuck when her teenage son walked in on her having afternoon tea. She had held him despite him protesting that he was now a man but she told him he would always be her baby to suck it up.

Her dreams never left her. She wouldn't say they plagued her but they were so vivid that at times she wondered if they were a memory. Serena finally married Nate and they remained married which made her happy and lonely at the same time. But that was all soon forgotten when their twin girls were born and they kept them all so busy that she hardly had time to think about sorrow.

The man she married, John, was a good man who had also lost his first wife when he was younger so they both understood that true love had come and gone for both of them and they just needed someone to talk to and hold when the loneliness became overwhelming. And she loved him dearly, being fifteen years her senior almost made him a father figure but he was a good man and she stayed with him until the day he died.

There were times when she would be in a room filled with people and she would feel someone watching her but just as quickly as she realized this the feeling would leave her. There were times when she could feel someone watching her as she slept but she would wake and the feeling would be gone. Her own thoughts and hopes were haunting her.

And then there was that strangeness of Brenton being 'saved' by unseen forces. Like the time he got attacked in Paris but a stranger had saved him or the night he had been drunk and nearly walked into on-coming traffic but he felt someone grab him and 'fly' him to safety. He never saw their face but swore he knew their smell.

Of course she'd had odd moments too. She had unfortunately been at the wrong place at the wrong time and this crazed mad-man began shooting in 5th Avenue as she walked out of Celine. She had been grabbed by an unknown man and saved from a stray bullet. The shooter was never found by the authorities. Then there was the time when a robber attempted to break into her Hamptons home and he was found nearly dead by the time the police arrived. At times she felt a guardian angel watching over her and her son. As the years passed she though less and less about who it could be. She could no longer live with such fairytales.

* * *

"_Her and Serena have left with Brenton to Paris for the Summer, would you like me to follow them there?"_

"_She's dating a musician with bad breath, would you like me to dispose of him?"_

"_Brenton started school today, she cried all the way to her home, the boy was fine and held his head up."_

"_Serena and Nate were married, Blair made sure all went according to plan including having a Carter Bazien removed from the premises as he attempted to talk to the bride."_

"_She's met a man, he's an older good man, what would you like me to do… nothing?"_

"_She's marrying the man, she seems happy."_

"_Serena and Nate had twin girls which they named Cecilia and Andina, Blair is quite taken with them."_

"_Brenton seems to be in love with this young girl he met in 2__nd__ grade."_

"_Her husband is very sick, cancer, he wont make it."_

"_He has died and she has decided to move permanently to the Hamptons home, she seems happier there."_

"_Brenton is getting married, his wife is pregnant."_

"_They named him Charles and Blair is beside herself with joy. She hardly leaves the baby's side..."_

"_The family is spending the summer in Paris, would you like me to follow?"_

"_He was saved as you requested, sire. He came to no harm and the fledglings have been taken care of."_

"_Sire… she's getting sick and she's not telling anyone. I think it's a heart condition but I will investigate more."_

"_She's getting better, lots of bed rest after the operation."_

"_Sire…"_

And that was the last update that Diego brought him through the years. He could tell in the young man's eyes that this was not something that could be explained and the young vampire didn't really know how to tell his King about the final chapter in the story. No one likes to be the bearer of bad news. No one likes to hear a sad story.

She had once made him watch some silly black and white movie where the hero went to the heroine's death bed, hidden from everyone to say his last goodbye. He figured no harm could come of it now. She was nearing 75 and life had been long and good to her. The Hamptons home which he had bought himself had changed little in the years, she had kept it carefully manicured. He had watched her as the years passed, hiding in the shadows and unknown to her fighting battles of those who tried to harm her to get to him. As much as he tried to keep his past away from the tribes the fact that he had been a public figure before he was turned made it nearly impossible. Someone always found out about Blair and Brenton and he had a little army to keep them safe. Despite not being with her watching her and knowing about her made him feel better. Knowing that when lonely he could always just watch her as she worked a gala or as she walked their grandson to the park and showed him how to feed the ducks.

She'd battled her heart condition for five years now and she was tired. He could tell in the way she smiled. It was forced. He could sense that much of the family was in the house so he climbed to the siding and watched as they came in and out of her room. Hospice was already with her there just waiting and it broke his heart. But he needed to be strong, if only for one last time. He waited until the nurse urged them all out and said that she needed her rest. Once he was sure they were alone he slid inside to her room.

The first thing that she noticed is that it smelled of death. Something he knew very well. The second was how small she was. She was barely skin and bones, having lost her appetite, a sure sign that death was eminent. He felt his throat close up as he locked the door to her room, ensuring their last moment.

"I knew you would come," the soft voice said behind him and he was stunned to find her looking at him. To him, she was still beautiful. Her hair was nearly all white and her skin was pale. She embodied the quintessential sophisticated Upper East Side matron, just like he always knew she would. He carefully went to her and sat on her bed as she stared at him with her wide brown eyes.

"You look just like I remember you," she whispered. "I must look very different."

He smiled slightly and reached out to touch her face. "You look just the same to me." She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

"Liar," she smiled and he chuckled.

They were silent for a while and he was afraid that if he moved he would hurt her.

"Have you come to take me away?" she asked softly and he felt her heart weakening. His heart was breaking and all he could do was slip under the covers and hold her which he did. She felt small against him than he remembered but just holding was enough for him to ignore all of that, he _finally_ had his Blair back in his arms where she had always belonged.

"Are you in pain?" he asked her softly and she shook her head.

"No… pain left a long time ago," she murmured. "You've always watched me, haven't you?"

He kissed her head and held her closer, something akin to tears prickling his eyes. She was leaving him and this time there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had made his choice and let her live her live and now those choice were breaking him.

"Always," he nodded. "Even when we were very young."

"I always loved you, you know," she whispered and he took her hand which was quite different from what he remembered it being but he held it just the same. All the power in the world couldn't help him now. In the end, life always does what it does. It gives life and it brings death.

"I know," he whispered and held her closer. "Remember the day we first felt Brenton kick in your stomach?" and she laughed softly. "That was the happiest day of my life."

"Mine too," she nodded against him. "We were happy, weren't we?"

"The happiest," he nodded.

"In my next life I want to grow old with you," she finally said.

"I will try my hardest to make it happen," he smiled and that's when he realized that he was wetting her hair with his tears. She fell asleep in his arms when he felt something else enter the room. He looked up to find the witch which he had not seen in many, many decades.

"You must leave, sire." She whispered. "Your son needs to say goodbye too."

He grew angry at her. It was all _her_ fault. "Do not wake her with your anger," the witch warned. "She needs her rest."

Slowly he extracted himself from Blair's side, his hands were shaking as he touched her face one last time. "Blair…" she slowly opened her eyes to look at him. "You asked me to wake you before I left."

She smiled softly at him. "Will I see you again?"

And all he could do was nod. "Good…" and with that she closed her eyes and slept.

"Come, they will come soon," the witch urged him. But as she grasped his coat he wrenched it from her, glaring at her. Then he walked out of Blair's room and to the dark garden that he himself had designed. The witch followed him there and his all consuming grief and anger got the best of him.

"I wish you'd left me where you found me. I wish you had let me die when I was supposed to die," he hissed. "I have sacrificed my life and my loved one's life for a cause that was never mine."

The witch looked down and the back at him. "There are many things you don't understand –"

"And I don't want to!" he snapped. "I command you to stay away from me. The sight of you repulses me."

"Where will you go? The sun will soon come –"

"And I intend to greet it," he snapped and flew off into the night.

He had so many regrets that they were now pilled into mountains that covered him, drowned him until he knew that the only thing keeping him afloat was _her_ and she wasn't there anymore. She was dying and along with her soul. So therefore he would also go. He had no soul, after all. He was soulless, her life animated his body. One couldn't live without the other and that's how it would be. He'd missed the warmth of the sun on his skin, he _longed_ for daylight from this endless night and today he would end the torment that had started so long ago. He'd left his kingdom to the one man who had been loyal to him and had watched over his family as his own and he knew Diego would watch over Brenton and Charles long after he was gone.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again it was not Chuck's vision that she saw but that of a young beautiful woman. One she thought she had seen in her dreams.

"I know you…" she whispered hoarsely.

The woman nodded, she seemed to almost glow.

"You're not my nurse," she said.

"I am tonight," she came closer and had a small cup in her hand.

She sighed, tired, Chuck's vision had left her even more tired. "I don't want any more medicine."

The woman shushed her and cupped the back of her neck. "The pain that cannot be seen can perhaps be healed."

Blair chuckled softly. "My time has come and I am oddly at peace with this."

"Here now," the woman soothed her and pressed the small paper cup to her lips. Blair struggled but was too weak to reject it so she gulped down the drink and grimaced.

"Life teaches you many things…" the woman whispered to her. "Attempting to end one's despair at the cost of another is never satisfactory and the pain never went away. My son is still dead and I've only caused misery. May the life you led be a dream, child."

Blair listened to her words as if in a dream and then she felt her chest tighten. "My son… call my son."

The woman nodded, smiling down at her. "Don't let him go." She whispered with urgency to Blair. "Don't let him go."

The last thing Blair remembered was Brenton looming over her, holding her hand before her world went dark. She thought she'd had lived a good life. She had loved, laughed, lived and seen her son make his own life filled with the happiness she had once wished upon herself.

So she went. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

* * *

The End

AN: Please read the epilogue before you kill me, thanks! :)


	21. Epilogue

**Soulless**  
_"Evil is a point of view."_

By Isabelle

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or its characters.

Rating: M

Summary: Vampires don't get obsessed with pictures left on their graves; pictures of lovely brunettes and chubby baby boys. Vampires are soulless and evil. He didn't know their names, but he knew they were special. _She_ must've been special to him, and that thought alone haunted him. All he knew was that he wanted her for himself, even if he had to kill her to get her. Chuck/Blair.

A/N: Tati is the most wonderful, most talented BETA in the whole wide world.

* * *

_No matter how long we exist, we have our memories. Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering, some memories will yield nothing of their beauty or their splendor. Rather they remain as hard as gems."_

_Anne Rice_

Life, it seemed, had a different plan. She woke with a heaviness around her and was astonished to find a large belly staring up at her. She yelped and with great difficulty she rolled out of the bed and waddled to the mirror and let out a scream when she saw herself.

There she was, young and beautiful and very much pregnant. She felt she was having a heart attack but then she realized she didn't have any health conditions.

Was it a dream? How long could dreams be? She didn't get to ponder this much when Chuck barged into the room his eyes wide.

"Are you OK? Is it time?"

She stood there staring at him, mouth agape. There he was, young and beautiful and fresh in the morning light. His tie was at hand and he was clearly getting ready for work.

"Chuck –" she whispered and then went to him, holding him close, feeling his heartbeat against her.

He held her tightly. "What's wrong?" he asked, still startled by her scream.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Oh god…" she held him closer. He was warm and alive, she was shaking and terrified.

He sat her down on the bed and still held her.

She was shaking, shaking from the inside out. All these memories and accounts she could tell of an entire life led. They were burning against her retina and against her skin. She remembered being old and tired, she remembered moments and entire lifetimes. She remembered jokes and tears. These things couldn't have been made up. Could they? Yet _this_ felt just as real. Chuck's warm body against her, her growing son inside of her, the wood under her feet. It felt _real_.

"I think I had the longest most horrible dream… I remember every detail. I… you _died_ and I was a widow and Brenton didn't know you and Oh god!"

"Shhh… it was a dream," he whispered to her.

"You don't understand, I remember _everything_. I remember you died and you were a vampire and then you just left and I lived a whole life without you – oh god!" she was hysterical and she knew it but it had been so real, she could still smell things.

"It was a dream, it's all," he assured her, kissing her head. "Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn't go."

Her ears perked up. "Go where?"

He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "To L.A… you've been telling me to go when I didn't think it was right to."

"L.A?" she whispered and on cue his phone started ringing.

"It's probably Rogers with the estimates of the damage," he said as he reached for his phone.

"The damage?" she asked him, still confused.

"From… the earthquake… Blair are you OK?" he asked concerned, picking up the call as he took in her pale face. "Rogers?"

"Oh god…" she realized. "She told me not to let you go." And it all clicked into place. Chuck dying, Chuck coming back as a vampire, the witch and that spell, her long life and now the last memory of the strange woman she didn't recognize who made her drink something. Her hands shook as she suddenly reached out, grabbed his phone and threw it across the room, destroying his new Iphone.

He stood there, mouth opened at the pieces on the floor. "Have you –"

"Yes, I've lost my mind and I also think I'm in labor so you're not getting on any plane," she snapped as Dorota came in with two piles of freshly pressed shirts for Chuck.

"Miss Blair which for Mr. Chuck's trip?" the maid asked, completely unaware of what had happened.

"None!" Blair cried, standing up and grabbing her robe. "Mr. Chuck is not going anywhere other than the hospital, I think I'm in labor!"

Dorota dropped the shirts and Chuck calmly walked to Blair, grabbing her shoulders. "Blair –"

"I'm sure," she nodded, holding on to his arms. "I'm sure just please come to the hospital with me."

"Of course," he nodded. "But –"

"It's hormones," she nodded as he raised a brow at. "I'm nervous about my dream and I'm – I'm in PAIN! Yes! Pain!" she cried, clutching her stomach as his eyes widened.

Dorota had already grabbed her overnight bags and had called Arthur to pull the limo to the front.

Chuck stared at her oddly, knowing full well she was hiding something. "Please don't leave for L.A…" she begged him, grabbing his face. "I have this horrible, horrible feeling… I want you there when Brenton is born, I want you to be part of our lives. Of _my_ life. Please don't leave."

He nodded, holding her close to him and nodded. "I won't go, I'll stay. Fred can go for me, I can work from here or the hospital."

"Yes, please, just don't get on the plane, promise me you won't," she insisted, grabbing on to his collar.

"I promise," he smiled. "Now are you really in labor or is this a grand scheme to get me to stay?"

She bit her lip. "I'm not in labor _now…_ but I will be soon."

He let out a small laugh. "You gave poor Dorota a heart attack."

His words made her laugh as she pulled him to bed, her belly bumping against him as Brenton kicked inside of her.

"Your son is kicking again, as he always does when you're around." She smiled. Chuck placed his hand on her belly and kissed her.

She pulled back and beamed at him. "You realize what this means, right?" she asked happily. The darkness that had sought her since the moment Chuck had died was suddenly disappearing in the mists of possibility.

"What?" he asked amused, tucking a stay curl behind her ear.

"This means that _anything_ is possible. Anything. We can have more children, visit Spain together, I can prevent some of Serena's stupid mistakes – Oh and Humphrey is alive!" At that she frowned.

Chuck's brows furrowed, amused. "You killed Dan in your dreams?"

"Oh no, your sire did," she explained, kissing him deeply. "Did I mention that the vampire sex was hot?"

This perked his interest. "Really? You must tell me about this dream later."

"Yes, later. I haven't had proper hot sex in _decades_," she moaned against him, both oblivious when Dorota yelped at finding them in a compromising position but realizing there was no trip to the hospital just now. So she grumbled and closed the door behind her.

"_Decades_? I made you cum five times after the opera last night –" he protested.

"I can't remember, show me again," she smirked popping the buttons of his shirt. A slow smirk formed on his face.

"You should have these dreams more often," he murmured as she latched on to his neck, biting him.

"Trust me, once is enough," she smiled coyly as she lay back in bed and pretty soon she was remembering quite accurately not only what it was like to make love with Chuck but what it was to have a sex drive in general. Pretty soon those memories were more like distant dreams. Details began to fade and a life once lived began anew.

A few days later Brenton Bass was born. He was healthy and so was his mother. His father was the first to hold him.

Down in the streets of New York where a peddling woman holds up an old empty cup of coffee she tells the pedestrians "A penny, a penny. Give us a penny for our thoughts." Every once in a while someone does. Some regret it, some definitely do not.

* * *

The End.

AN: I'm very excited to have finished this, had a lot of stuff going on in my RL especially up in the end of this so I'm very thankful for those of you who stuck it through. I appreciate all of your support and I encourage you to keep believing in Chuck/Blair, they are a _wonderful_ love story and though bumps will come and go love pieces everything together despite things often feeling as if permanently broken. Plus, it's fiction! Both in the show and here please enjoy the ride and remember to always keep it fun and entertaining and not so serious, we have real life for that! Thank you all once more!


End file.
